by JL Oiler
What would Thomas have to say about all this? Would he have jumped at the chance to be part of this unique group or walked away telling the General to go fuck himself? John thought about it long and hard. His friend would've taken the opportunity to remain in the military and ensure the security and safety of his family even if it meant becoming something other than a human. Other than a Thorndier.
John weighed the pros and cons carefully. There were certain perks which came with the job. Not only would he be protecting his country from these monsters but he’d be bumped up five full pay grades regardless of his rank, get a ten thousand dollar signing bonus and the highest level security clearance he could attain. The negatives included the fact that some doctor would be using him like a guinea pig, he would basically lose his own identity, and there was no end to his enlistment. John would be a lifer. A very long lifer.
Stretching and standing up as the sun began to set in the sky, John made his decision. There was no turning back. Someone needed to take up the fight against these things and it might as well be him. Walking back to his small room, he gathered up the few belongings he would be taking with him to his new life and left the rest. The General had explained that the unit would reside inside the Nest. It would be their home, headquarters, and serve every aspect of their lives.
The jeep pulled in front of the housing compound at a quarter until eight just as scheduled, two guards seated in the front to accompany him back to the Nest. John rode in silence wondering if the General had assembled the remaining members of the unit yet or if he was to be the first. Upon their arrival, he grabbed his duffle while letting out a long sigh and headed down to the medical lab where the doctor would be waiting. Nervous butterflies bounced about his stomach yet remained unrevealed in his stone like expression as the General greeted him with a handshake and a pen. With the papers signed and his body stripped down to a pair of ash gray pt shorts, John watched as a nurse strapped him securely onto a steel reinforced cot.
“You should feel a sharp pinch then heat as I inject the compound,” the doctor told him as he drew a yellowish liquid into a large syringe. “After that you should simply fall asleep,” he added as he jabbed the needle into the bend of John’s arm and began pushing the thick fluid into him.
“FUCK!” John bellowed as the sensation of fire shot up his arm and into his chest and head. Every muscle tightened into a Charlie horse type knot and feelings of intense anger and unreasonable gripped him. “Let me the fuck up, you bastard!”
Jerking his arms hard, he felt the pop of the metal rings as the restrains gave way. He wanted free of all this. Forcing the Velcro across his chest to break free, John pulled away from the table, jumping to the floor with the full intention of destroying anything in his wake. Never had he felt so angry, felt such a need to cause harm.
He heard the whoosh of the tranquilizer gun before he realized the dart sunk deep into his thigh and shoulder, dropping him where he stood. John’s vision began to blur as the medicine rushed through him. Then his anger dissipated.
“Just relax, Sergeant, We have this all under control. When you wake up it will be all over,” the General’s voice said as everything went black.
“Is he out?” John heard the doctor ask, but he was unable to respond.
“Yes, now get on with it. We’ll need to make certain the restraints are reinforced before we do the others and that we have more tranquilizers ready for when they all wake up just in case you’re wrong about them,” the General responded.
Wrong about what? John wondered as he lost his battle for any level on consciousness and slipped into a medicated coma.
SIX DAYS LATER…
John opened his eyes slowly, raising his arm to his face in an attempt to shield them from the bright light. His headed pounded as if he’d been on a weeklong drunk, the constant thump making him feel rather nauseated. Finally able to get his bearings, he shielded his eyes as he looked around. The room he was in could easily been any of a hundred in the base housing complex with the exception that it didn't have a single window. The walls were painted white, the floor tiled in the same, and a single unshaded light bulb hung from the outlet in the center of the ceiling. There were speakers mounted in the far corners. Thankfully, someone had traded the small twin cots usually found in such places for a king size with a thick mattress.
Sitting up on the edge, he rubbed the thick growth which covered his chin. How long had he been out? There was still a slight knot in his thigh where he recalled the tranquilizer dart striking him but it was small with no hint of the bruise he expected to see. He also noted a three-inch mark across his chest, just above his heart. It looked like a cut that was about healed, which confused him. If the doctor made it then it shouldn’t have healed so much already and he was certain he didn't have it when he came in.
Standing, John discovered his legs were weak. Evidently, it had been a few days since he’d used them. He headed to the door to the right of the bed and sighed in relief to find it was a bathroom. He needed to piss and take a hot shower. Perhaps then he would be able to get his head on straight and see where he stood in regards to the General's unit.
The bath was the same blinding white as his room, with a glass shower, a single sink with an oval mirror above, and a commode. Someone had laid out a towel and array of plastic wrapped toiletries along with what looked like a specimen cup and note. Scanning the small piece of paper with its list of orders, John grumbled and crumbled it in his hand. Tossing it into the trash, he grabbed the small plastic cup and unscrewed the lid. With the urine sample done and out of the way, he could turn his attention to the image he saw reflected in the mirror. He was in bad need of a shave, but nothing out of the ordinary after this long. Grabbing his top lip, John pulled it up so he could more easily examine his teeth. Nope, no fangs evident. He was still just plain John. After a hot shower, he hoped he’d feel that way even more so.
Emerging from the steam filled bathroom fifteen minutes later, John walked to the white dresser and pulled open one of the draws. He’d expected to find his own things tucked inside, since his duffle was nowhere in sight. Instead, he found new neatly folded PT shorts and t- shirts. Where the hell did his things go?
“Sergeant?” the General's voice called from the speakers.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Good. I just wanted to make certain you were awake. The sensors picked up movement in your cell.”
Cell? Was he a prisoner? John wondered as he eyed the door suspiciously. Walking over he turned the handle and gave it a push. Nothing. He was locked inside.
“Why is my door locked?”
“Just a precaution, as is the state of your room. We need to keep you in a controlled environment for a bit, no chance for sensory overload or contact with others right now. I promise as soon as we get you squared away and you can handle the changes you’ve experienced, I’ll get you out of there.”
“Well that’s where you might have a problem General,” John spoke while looking up at the circular speaker. “I didn't have any change.”
“Yes well, it might appear that way, Sergeant. However experience has proven that to be a miscalculation.”
“So I’m not the first guinea pig for your little team?”
“No, we had three volunteer prior.”
“Where are they now?” John asked curiously though he feeling as though he didn't really want to know the answer.
“Two are dead and the third we’ll address some time later. After you have completed your training and we have a fully functional unit. Now, Sergeant, if you’ll excuse me. The doctor should be there in a short bit to begin some testing.”
Before John could ask anything more, he heard the little metallic click which indicated the General had turned the com system off. He still had a lot of questions and he hoped the Doc might have some answers. Spying his weathered photographs on the nightstand, he went over and picked them up, tucking them both into the small pocket of his tee shirt, right over h
is heart.
About two hours later Dr. Horace, who he remembered injecting him with the burning fluid in the medical lab, stepped through the door, a navy medical bag and specimen container in his hand. He motioned toward the bed and John walked over and took a seat as the doc slipped the stethoscope from around his neck and put the soft rubber tips into his ears. The bell felt cold on John’s skin as he took in several deep breaths.
“Well Doc, am I going to live?” John asked in jest.
“Yes and No.”
That wasn't the answer John expected. He looked at the serious expression on Dr. Horace’s face as the man handed John the specimen cup and headed to the bathroom the retrieve the one John filled earlier. He felt the flutter of nerves in his gut. What was the man not saying? Had something gone wrong?
“I think I already filled one of these,” John said in a second attempt at humor with the far too serious doctor.
“That one,” Horace said nearly breaking a smile, “is not for urine.”
“Oh,” was the only response John could find. He’d never been asked to jerk off into a cup before and wasn't so sure he could do it.
“I need to check your sperm count and testosterone levels,” the doctor explained. “It seems that the mating instinct increases exponentially with the change. This is why these creatures are prone to violent sexual outbursts.”
“You mean I might rape or brutalize some poor woman because I’m horny?” John asked in a bit of panic. He had always liked his sex a bit rough but the thought of doing the type of acts he’d seen in the pictures was unacceptable.
“Not exactly. It seems that some of these things, I mean... Well, we need to find you a woman to bond with in that state so your external sexual aggression can be satisfied. From what I have seen, the sexual activity of all the creatures you’ve been spliced with is much more aggressive and frequent unless tapered by a bond. ”
“I’ll be sure to use that pick up line,” John growled sarcastically. “Hey babe, how about I take you back to my cave a fuck you so hard you can’t walk and when I’m done maybe I’ll bite you and do it again.”
John could feel rage building in his body as he ranted and he jumped as he punctured his lower lip with a sharp fang as he spoke.
“What the fuck?” he screeched as he brought his hand to his mouth to feel the sharp points of his canine teeth.
“Anger brings about the change. It’s something you'll need to learn how to control,” the doctor advised as he handed John two small pills and a glass of water he’d brought from the bathroom sink. “Here, take these. They’ll help you relax and focus. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to get you on the front lines.”
CHAPTER THREE
Thornora Grant, aka Thorn, shivered as she sat in the front seat of her 2007 Chevy Cobalt. She dare not turn over the engine even for a few minutes, the hole in the catalytic converter would too easily draw attention. That was the last thing she wanted at this point. Still every snow flake that danced its way onto the windshield brought her numb fingers closer to turning the key. Even the extra layer of clothes she’d slipped on before leaving the house no longer held off the below freezing temperatures.
She must have been crazy for accepting this job. However, netting a thousand dollars for watching and recording the coming and goings of Sergeant John Rose seemed like an easy enough way to snag some extra cash to help out her sister in-law and niece. It was more than twice her average check at the small ambulance company where she worked as a paramedic and Caroline and Becka needed the money. Since Thomas’ death, they’d been struggling to rebuild their lives, both mentally and financially.
The last thing Thorn expected was the weather to dip to arctic like temperatures and her quarry to be such a social butterfly. She supposed social moth was a better term considering he never left the base apartment until well after dusk and never returned until an hour or so before dawn. Evidently, the old man who hired her had a lot of pull. He’d even furnished her a military pass so she could keep an eye on John. Thorn knew the man that paid her was military, retired most likely. The manner with which he held himself and how he spoke to those around him said as much. What he wanted with the man she watched Thorn didn't know or even care at the moment.
Tonight the Sergeant haunted a supposed blood club called the Crept. It was one of those places which had sprung up all over town as of late, where a bunch of wanna be vampires hung out and sipped fruity red drinks they could pretend was blood. Thorn figured the whole thing was harmless enough but obviously not the type of place one expected to see a military officer. She’d even spent the first hour watching for him to exit the club coming up with humorous military recruiting slogans regarding the whole thing. Her favorite was a parody in which one of him promised “A bat in every belfry!” Of course, the whole thing was losing its humor now Thorn was sitting out here freezing her ass off.
Looking at her watch, Thorn grabbed her small steno pad and scribbled down the time, checking it against his arrival. Six hours had passed and with it now being almost three in the morning, she thought he should be exiting soon so the place could close. This was the sixth different blood club the man visited in the past week. Each time he stayed about an hour or two then left. Tonight was a true anomaly. Something about this place must be different from the others.
Finally giving in to the bitter cold chatter of her teeth, Thorn turned the motor over and flipped the fan switch to high. Snuggling back into her seat, she checked her watch one more time and returned her attention back to the bright red door leading into the club. At this rate, she wouldn't have a hell of a lot to report to the old man come Monday. He’d hired her to watch the man and only approach when he was in a public place such as a coffee shop or store. The man had been adamant about her not entering any club or bar. When she did make contact it was suppose to only be casual conversation and in no way was Thorn to let him know she’d been following him.
Sighing, Thorn pulled down the drivers visor so she could look at the small picture clipped to the inside. He brother looked stunning in his dress uniform. Frowning, she closed it back up and looked back out the window. It was hard to believe this would be the second Christmas he would be gone. She could remember the call in vivid detail. Thorn had just gotten home from the third twelve-hour shift in the week and her ass was dragging. She’d climbed under her grandmothers homemade quilt and was almost asleep when the phone rang. It was an inconsolable Caroline. Though she couldn't make out a single sobbing word, Thorn knew. It was like falling head first into a dark cold pit, which had no bottom. To make matters worse, the military advised they wouldn't be able to return Thomas’ corpse for burial. Therefore, instead of having a body to grieve over, there was a framed picture and a folded flag, resulting in an inability to find true closure.
Thorn yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, the warmth pouring from the vents making her eyes heavy. Flipping the visor back in place, she checked the clock again, three forty-five a.m. Where the hell was he? Digging in the bag on the passenger seat, Thorn grabbed a crème-filled donut covered in chocolate. If she had any hope of staying awake much longer, she would need a good sugar rush.
She took her first mouthful when a hard tap on her window caused her to jump. Spinning around, she stared wide eyed into the scowling face of Sergeant John Rose, who motioned for her to open the door. Shaking her head erratically, Thorn nearly choked on the mouthful of sweet pastry. How had he managed to get out of the club and beside her car without Thorn seeing him? She’d only turned her attention away for a few seconds.
He rapped on the window again, a bit harder than last, and motioned for her to open the door. Thorn swallowed hard and reached up to wipe away any remaining evidence of her sticky treat. What was she going to do now? She’d been stupid for thinking she could spy on anyone without being caught. Now she was in way over her head.
“Open the damn door,” he growled, slapping the glass for a third time so hard Th
orn was surprised it didn't shatter.
****
John had been scanning the local blood clubs the past week for any signs that a real vampire might be lurking around the area. There’d already been two cases of bodies turning up sporting tell-tale signs. When the General mentioned he’d arranged a very special tale to keep an eye on his comings and goings this first week out in the public on his own, John expected a military surveillance team hidden out in a dark van able to provide backup if he needed it, not some chick in a Chevy.
Seeing that same burgundy car parked across the street from the Crept, he’d been livid. The damn woman was going to get herself killed. The General must have been crazy to send a civilian woman into such a situation. John’s temperament was no better when he finally exited the club and watched as she scavenged around in her vehicle. Obviously, she had no clue about the speed of the things he hunted.
In a flash of a second, he stood outside her driver’s side window. His intent to frighten her back to whatever suburban hell she’d come from was totally forgotten when she turned to face him. The recognition was as instant as the erection, which currently pressed against his pants. Thornora Grant was even more breath-taking sitting there wide eyed in the front seat of that car than she was in the picture in his front pocket. His head spun with the possibilities of what could've befallen her here on this filthy street.
The General must have seen the image John kept close. The past three weeks had been tough ones. John nearly tore his cock off he jacked-off so often. It was beginning to affect his concentration and give him an idea of what drove the breeds to perpetrate such terrible acts. Hell, those things were all ready set on killing. Add a female and a hard-on into the mix and things were bound to get bad.
