The Fog of Dreams

by Justin Bell

  ********

  Strickland's mind swarmed with angry red bees, stinging at him from the inside and threatening to drag him down into the depths of animal rage. He let it come. Suddenly, he plunged forward and fell deep into the endless well of red fog, and then there was nothing.

  On the outside, it was a different situation. His forearms bulged slightly as he kneeled on all fours in front of Ryan Sandidge. Veins surged underneath his skin, pumping genetically altered blood throughout his circulatory system. With a low growl, the bones snapped and reshaped throughout his body, hunching his shoulders and tearing his pants up the seams on his lower legs. Claws burst from the flesh on his fingers and dug deeply into his meaty palms as his skin faded to a grotesque pale gray, all in the span of a few seconds.

  "Oh shit," Sandidge said, lifting his weapon slightly to get a good shot at the top of Strickland's head, but he was too fast, even in mid-transformation. The G36c rattled off a quick barrage of shots, but the target shifted right and thrust himself forward, lunging out with his two fur-covered arms. Eight claws dug deep into the thick flesh of Sandidge's pectorals, grabbing fistfuls of flesh and muscle. The contractor muffled a scream of pain, even as the creature lifted him up off his feet and hurled him through the air, his chest muscles flayed and spraying. The approaching NSA agents were stunned into momentary silence by the ferocity of the attack, not sure what to do about the 250-pound projectile. They scattered, but the flying body hit the four of them square, and they went sprawling. One of the fallen men twisted, his weapon pointing to the ceiling, and pulled back on the trigger, burying at least a dozen rounds into the ceiling tiles above him, sending the hallway spiraling into chaos.

  Strickland stood, facing the throng of agents, his chest heaving with heavy, grunting breaths. He stood nearly seven feet tall, hunched over slightly, with fur-covered arms hanging at his side. Narrow green eyes stared deeply at the men in tactical gear who faced him holding weapons, and his malformed snout snorted, spewing little bouts of steam from each nostril. His mouth twisted into a snarling grimace, revealing a wall of jagged white teeth underneath his curled lips. A thin layer of gray and brown fur covered his massive frame, but his rigid musculature was visible underneath, torn uniform hanging off his broad shoulders. Snorts turned into a low and menacing guttural noise then he spread his lips slowly and let loose an animalistic howl. The horrid sound travelled the length of the hall and brought Grace to a stop just before he reached his doorway.

  "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!" swore one of the agents in tactical gear as he raised his M4 carbine and let loose a barrage of gunfire towards the hunched creature. With bizarre grace considering his long and lanky form, Strickland swept to the side, avoiding the gunfire entirely, then dropped to all fours, and dashed down the hallway, his mouth open and snarling. As the agent tried to adjust his aim, the wolf creature left the ground in a swift lunge and was on top of him in an instant, in the midst of a thick crowd of other agents. Knocked down by the force of the attack, bodies flew, scrambling out of the way, as claws lashed out indiscriminately through the crowd. The agent who fired upon him grimaced as flesh and black fabric rendered into thick, wet strands under the thrashing attack of Strickland's claws. Three agents came around behind him, lifting their guns, but the wolf lashed backwards, raking claws across one of their faces, then continued the spin and slammed one in the face with a tightly clenched fist. A third man got a few quick bursts of fire off, but the jostling of his weapon sent the bullets wide, then the creature slammed him back first into the wall behind him, sending spider web cracks across plaster.

  Advanced senses heard the acrid punch of sweat and the telltale scrape of flesh on metal from just behind him, so Strickland dodged right, just as a path of bullets broke apart the wall and tore apart the man standing exactly where he had just been positioned. Strickland's narrow glare bore down on the shooter, and in less than a second, he traversed the width of the hallway and slapped the weapon out of the man's hand, then drove his claws deep into his chest. With a wet tear, he pulled his hand free, and then sent his other hand up into a massive, crushing fist against the shooter's head. The head snapped to his right and the body crumpled as three more men converged. Strickland ran forward, moving around the flying bullets, then halted his momentum to the right and surged left, running headlong into all three men. Slamming out with his left leg, he side kicked one in the chest and knocked him back a good four feet into the wall behind him, as he struck out with his left fist and brought a second man roughly to the ground. The final man felt the full brunt of his force as he descended upon him with teeth and claws, ripping and tearing amidst a cacophony of screams. Lifting his head out of the thrashing agent's body, William Strickland glared throughout the hallway, seeing only four agents left, and those agents looked as if they lost their will to fight quickly.

  Growling emerged from his pursed lips, chased by slick strands of crimson and translucent as his eyes glistened in the florescent light of the hallway of this once immaculate office building. The front NSA agent regarded the creature, who was hunched back slightly on all fours glaring at him, and thought he saw the slightest bit of humanity as it wisped through his eyes, just below the surface. A curious look of indignation and uncertainty over exactly what was going on surrounding him. This lead agent extended a hand slowly, spreading out his fingers.

  "Easy there, buddy? take it easy. Nobody wants to hurt you,"

  "Fuck this shit!" The agent to his right said and immediately opened up with his carbine. Bullet sparks walked alongside the floor, straight towards Strickland, but his reflexes were too fast. He leaped forward, above the paths of the bullets, contorting in midair, cocking back his arm. Before his body even struck the agent, his hand snapped out, digging a wide swath through the man's throat, ending his life. Before the man's body even hit the floor, Strickland twisted gracefully in midair and struck out with his left leg, slamming a second agent directly in the chest and knocking him sprawling to the floor behind him.

  The lone remaining agent still had his arm extended where Strickland had been standing as the creature fell with a graceful thump to the smooth surface of the floor. His green eyes still burned into this last man, who was astonished at the bizarre hybrid of creature and human that crouched before him. The senses, agility, and strength of a beast, but the fighting prowess and decision making of a human. It was? amazing.

  "You are? you are incredible," said the agent slowly, his mouth wide and his eyes opened in near admiration. Strickland cocked his head curiously, looking at the man with odd green eyes. He stood on his hind legs and walked slowly towards him. Still looking sideways, his clawed fingers flexed slowly. This last agent had lowered his weapon and held up a hand defensively.

  "How did they do this to you?" he asked earnestly, looking hard at the creature.

  Strickland took another few steps towards him, sniffing the air, looking curious.

  Then his eyes suddenly narrowed angrily, but it was too late. A swift prick stabbed him in the back of the neck and he whirled around, eyes and mouth wide in anger and rage. His huffing breath changed to a growl, yet almost barks of outrage at whatever had struck him when he wasn't expecting it.

  Agent Richard Grace stood there, an oddly cocky smirk on his face, with the pistol grip injector in his hand.

  "Dumb fucking dog," Grace muttered, with a smarmy grin on his face.

  He'd tricked him.

  Without hardly even trying, Strickland slashed his arm sideways and tore out the other agent's throat, who dropped his weapon, clutched at his neck, and fell to the ground.

  William Strickland's barely human form turned back to Grace, who slowly stepped backwards down the hallway towards his office. Strickland's mouth broke open into a growl of anger and he started forward, but suddenly stumbled, a thick cloud settling throughout his raging skull. Dropping a bit and continuing to stumble as he pursued Grace, his voice snarled and growled, but mostly out of confusion and less out of ang
er as the mysterious man who had injected him with something vanished into a door down the hall. Strickland pursued, his eyes now clouding with a different color, forcing the red haze aside, dissipating it like a raindrop in a puddle of red ink. He ran haggardly down the hallway towards this door and stumbled one last time, striking the opened door with his left shoulder, coughing and sputtering, and dropped to the ground, catching himself with a single hand. His green eyes widened as he saw the hair receding from his arms and his skin slowly fading back to a more normal flesh color. Claws on his fingers slowly shrank away, ebbing back into his fingertips, amidst a slight jolt of pain. His tattered clothes settled and draped more normally around his sinking frame, as he could feel the rage of the beast floating away above his head and out of his reach.

  It was obviously not gone of its own volition. This man had done something. Injected him with something. This? this man?

  The memory came flying back at him quite suddenly as he recalled the well-dressed man who had narrowly avoided being run over, and whom he had pursued through the streets of this very town only six short weeks or so ago. He had known this man. Not just known him, but well, and he had no doubts this man had at least some of the answers he looked for.

  He looked up into the large office on the third floor, and the man who had injected him now stood before him, his arms crossed behind his back. Wearing a similar suit and tie as Strickland had seen him wearing that first time they met, his eyebrows cocked underneath neatly trimmed sandy brown hair.

  "Who?" Strickland stammered, still struggling with his swift transformation back to normal form. "Who are you?"

  "I thought you had this all figured out?" Grace asked; his trademark cocky smirk quite evident on his lips. "Shame, Mr. Strickland, I knew you were strong and fast, but I thought you were a bit smarter."

  "Who the hell are you?" Strickland asked again, propping himself up with the door casing and stood weakly.

  "My name is of little importance. All you need to know is that I am the reason you're here. And I am the reason you are who you are."

  "Is that supposed to be some comfort to me?" Strickland could feel the anger simmering.

  Grace turned around and gestured with his hands as he walked back towards his desk. "Not your comfort, to be sure. Perhaps mine."

  Strickland walked feebly after him, strength slowly returning to his tired muscles, but seemingly not quite quickly enough. "Why? Why did you do this?"

  Grace stopped and glanced backwards. "Why? Isn't it obvious?"

  "Educate me."

  Grace smiled more broadly and turned to face him fully. "It's the great untapped resource, Mr. Strickland. We've only scratched the surface of genetic profiling and genetic engineering, my dear boy."

  "You mean me?" Strickland was angry now, and standing just a bit straighter. "You used me to 'tap into' this resource?"

  Grace chuckled softly. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose."

  "A manner of speaking? My wife is dead. My children are missing! And you stand there and laugh about it?"

  "And whose fault is that?" Grace asked, daring to look offended that the blame might lie on him.

  "Son of a bitch!" Strickland shouted; his rage no longer contained. He leaped at Grace, but the other man was too fast. He sidestepped slightly, and pushed his extended arms aside, then shifted momentum and placed his hip underneath the other's center of gravity. Seconds later, Strickland went sprawling to the ground clumsily.

  "Are we going to speak, or are we going to act like Neanderthals?" Grace asked with more than a small hint of presumptuousness.

  Strickland pulled himself to his feet, his muscles straining with the agony of recent combat. His lower legs ached, and his shoulder still throbbed from the gunshot wound. His Kevlar vest had offered a measure of protection from other injuries, but pain still raced white-hot through the roadways of his body.

  "Why did you do this to me?" he was able to ask, speaking through tensed lips.

  "Do this to you? Whatever do you mean?" Grace still smirked, and held out his hands as if questioning the sanity of the very question.

  "Took me from my family? forced me to succumb to these twisted experiments." Strickland's eyes narrowed again. He was almost fully upright.

  Agent Grace laughed. A long, loud laugh, all the more unusual considering the circumstances. "Forced you?" He shook his head slowly back and forth, as he paced the floor.

  "Mr. Strickland, I hate to break this to you..." He turned and looked the other man directly in the eye to enforce his honesty. "You asked for this."

  The bald man drew back somewhat and squinted at the other man in the suit and tie.

  "Oh, yes. You practically begged for it." Grace couldn't muffle the sheer pleasure he gathered from this apparent revelation.

  "I? I don't?"

  "You see, Mr. Strickland, there are very specific genetic markers that are required for this type of experiment. And you had them. You had almost all of them." Grace turned towards him, trying to look non-threatening. "As one of our best contractors, we were hesitant to approach you, but we did. We told you all of the risks, all of the dangers."

  Strickland looked at him dubiously.

  "You wanted to fight better. You wanted to earn more money. You wanted this, Strickland. You wouldn't take no for an answer! You damn well knew the risks to your wife and your family, and you signed on the dotted line without hesitation!"

  "Liar!" Strickland shouted, his face forming a snarl yet again.

  Grace's expression did not change. "Why would I lie? What would it change? Do you think I care if you somehow blame me for your wife's death? I couldn't care less." His voice was calm and even as he turned back towards his desk. His head turned back to face William Strickland who seemed to be on the verge of losing his cool.

  "I know your memory is a bit shot?. But I've got a newsflash for you, Strickland." The NSA Agent stared deeply at the man who stood not ten feet away.

  "You were kind of an asshole."

  Strickland had been standing there, clenched fists hanging at his side, his muscles tensing as the other man spoke. He couldn't wait any longer.

  The bald man crossed the ten feet in less than a second and lashed out with a vicious left punch before Grace could even fully turn around, but somehow the well-dressed man got his right arm up and parried it effectively. The ex-contractor followed up with a second punch, this time with the right hand, but Grace effortlessly knocked that one aside as well. Strickland swung his leg up into a solid round kick, going for Grace's ribcage, but he sidestepped, blocked the kick with his forearm, and then punched it away, knocking Strickland off balance.

  "I know you think you're special, Mr. Strickland," Agent Grace said, walking towards him. "And you are. But don't for one second think you're the only person who has these abilities."

  Strickland punched again, but Grace blocked his punch. He kicked towards Agent Grace's head, but he slipped down and backed out of the way.

  "You're not the only one with these genetic markers. There are others out there. And any data we gathered from your experiments has been synthesized with what we already knew."

  Moving in quickly, Strickland finally landed a rough left punch on Grace's jaw, but he spun with the impact and threw out a back kick, driving his foot deep into Strickland's ribs. Breath blasted from his lungs as he stumbled backwards, his mouth twisting.

  Grace continued to walk towards him. "You have been invaluable to us. Truthfully, you were simply the first. You were the guinea pig. We've been able to take what we learned from you and improve on it."

  Strickland lunged again, feeling his muscles surging with newfound energy. Again, red fog filtered into the corners of his eyes, and this time he welcomed it. He embraced it, and desperately reached for it inside his head.

  "So, no, Mr. Strickland, you are not our only test subject in the world." Agent Grace stopped walking and stared at him.

  "In fact?you're not our only test subject in this ro
om."

  This statement had the desired effect. Strickland looked up at Richard Grace with curious eyes, almost as if looking into his soul for some kind of twisted kinship. He found none.

  Grace reached behind his back and pulled out the pistol grip injector tucked in his belt underneath the suit coat that hung loose off his frame.

  "You see, William, thanks to what we've learned from you, we've been able to develop suppressors, which is what I used on you out in the hallway. Injections that suppress the effects of our genetic engineering."

  Strickland grimaced. He could feel the beast slowly seeping back into his body, and he suspected that perhaps Grace didn't know that the effects of his wonderful suppressor were only temporary.

  Grace's eyes narrowed to slits and glared at his opponent? this man who had been defying him at every turn. This man who had been begging to be put down since he first pulled his head off his damned pillow six weeks ago.

  "We have also developed an accelerant. An injection that accelerates the effects of the genetic engineering."

  Strickland couldn't help but notice the injector in his hand and really focused his glare on it.

  "Here. A demonstration."

  Agent Grace plunged the injector into his own left bicep and pulled the handle-sized pump trigger, quickly draining the strange blue liquid that was contained in the tube at the top. Strickland could see the sudden surge of musculature as the injected liquid struck his bloodstream and the effect was amazing.

  Almost instantly, Grace's hazel eyes threatened to burst apart inside the irises to be replaced by murky green luminescent fluid. Wet snapping of bone and reforming of musculature brought him to his knees as his shoulders bulged and surged underneath suddenly tight flesh, threatening to split the very skin that contained them. With the sound of grass waving in the breeze, a bush of thick black hair erupted from below his neck and head, and raced over his back, bursting through his shirt and throwing his suit coat to the floor in a heap. Pants split as his legs reformed, and he grew at least a foot taller right in front of Strickland's eyes.

  Was this how he looked to others?

  It was? horrible. Jagged teeth and pointed, fleshy ears sprang from their concealment as his snout expanded and black claws thrust from extended fingers, now pressed against the smooth floor. Grace dropped to all fours, and glared up at Strickland, a twisted, toothy grin on his face, and a snort of dull humor puffed from his black snout.

  "Impressive, is it not?" he asked in a gruff, husky growl. "Those two men guarding your house two months ago definitely thought so."

  Strickland thought back to that so called 'animal attack' that had occurred just outside his residence at the beginning of this whole trial. More than once, it had occurred to him that he was the source of these killings. Apparently, that particular attack had not been his fault. Two deaths off his conscious? but still far too many for which he was responsible.

  "That was you?" he asked.

  "Indeed. Those two fools almost blew our entire surveillance operation. They needed to pay, and I needed my first field test. We killed two birds with one stone that night." Grace's mouth grinned a malevolent, fang-filled wall of yellow-white.

  Strickland was taken aback. Grace certainly was an improvement. Not the mindless beast that he was every time he transformed? this creature had brains as well as being larger and more fully formed. The confidence that William Strickland had been feeling was already waning.

  "So what happens now?" Strickland asked, looking this wolf creature in the face, and not feeling the slightest need to back down.

  "Now? You die."

  Grace leaped forward, covering the several feet between the two men in a swift black blur, and he struck Strickland full on with the force of an angry lion. The ex-NSA contractor flew backwards and struck the floor with his right shoulder, which screamed in pain from the recent bullet wound. He rolled backwards, curled his feet tight to his body, and then flipped the wolf off him, sending him scattering across the floor before he could latch onto anything important. Hopping quickly to his feet, Strickland reached behind his back and slipped his Glock 22 out of its holster as Grace rolled back to his feet and lunged again. Strickland could only get off about four gunshots, which the creature dodged effortlessly, before a thick, hairy arm swept out and struck Strickland in the chest. He found himself soaring into the air, traversing about twelve feet before he slammed back first into the wooden wall above a large conference table. The sudden stop threw him down to the smooth table, showered by chunks of plaster and a small framed picture that had been hanging on the wall. Bounding on all fours, Grace was suddenly right on top of him again, raising his massive fists above his head, and Strickland hopped up into a crouch, and threw himself forward, barely sliding through the air above the fists, which swung down in a vicious arc. The hammer-like wolf hands slammed into the thick mahogany table and it exploded downward, breaking clean in half and scattering timber and splinters.

  Strickland struck the ground ungracefully, and before he could even scramble to his feet, the large black wolf creature turned and was almost on top of him again. Strickland tried to will himself to tap into his own beast reserves, but before even a single hair could sprout, another hammer fist drilled into his ribs and catapulted him into the air yet again. He rolled as his body soared, and again he careened off a thick plaster and wooden wall, slamming onto the ground half a second later. Muscles groaned as he tried to crawl to his feet, red fog now streaming through his pupils. As the wolf ran towards him again on all fours, Strickland sprinted towards it as well. At the last moment, he dropped to a baseball slide and fell on the smooth floor right underneath the creature's thick torso.

  Planting his feet, he popped up into a fighting stance, and just as the Grace monster turned around, he slammed a thick sidekick into his knee, stumbling him for a brief second. The next kick went into his now exposed ribs. As Grace bent to protect that area, Strickland kicked again, bringing his sword foot up into the side of his wolf-like face. It had the desired effect, and the creature was a bit stunned, but a lot angry. He backpedaled as Grace advanced and found himself moving faster, smarter, and stronger than he was only a minute ago. The wolf's large arms rounded towards him, trying to grasp him in a vicious hug to squeeze the life out of him, but Strickland whipped his own arms out and knocked both of the others surprisingly aside, leaving Grace exposed. Strickland kicked out with a ferocious front kick, and sent the wolf skidding backwards. As the creature tried to regain its footing, Strickland turned and ran, trying to navigate the large office, that suddenly felt life-threateningly small. A large office chair whizzed past his head that he just ducked out of the way of and it pounded into the far wall, two legs breaking, and the entire chair falling down into tatters.

  Glancing over at the desk, his eyes focused on a silver letter opener that sat there askew. Strickland changed course and dashed towards the desk, but the wolf creature was just as fast. He lunged towards the desk just as the wolf barreled into him and sent him skidding across the wooden surface. As he was thrown across the piece of furniture, he kicked out with his right foot and clipped the letter opener, knocking it through the air, both of them landing together on the floor behind the desk. With a grunt, the large wolf jumped up on the desk and dropped into a low crouch, glaring at Strickland, a thin line of drool slowly slipping through his sharp, clenched teeth.

  "Nowhere to go," the creature murmured, and Strickland noticed just a hint more beast in his voice than there had been before.

  "I was just about to say the same thing to you," Strickland hissed and scooped up the letter opener and slammed it down into his own thigh.

  The pain was intense and immediate, and he muffled a loud scream through tightly closed lips. Instantly he felt the creature, which had been hovering just beneath the surface, explode into the inside of his eyeballs, and blasting through every nerve ending in his body. The adrenaline fueled and a bone-twisting transformation happened almost immedi
ately, and the wolf-beast was upon him and within him.

  On the desk, Grace looked surprised, but a little part of him that seemed almost? happy?

  "Oh, this will be fun," he snarled, and his mouth curled open revealing his long, white teeth. Grace was notably larger than his gray and brown counterpart, a fact that Strickland noticed as well, to his unpleasant surprise. It would seem even in full 'beast mode,' this NSA agent had a distinct advantage.

  Grace hunched even lower and growled at the other creature, his teeth bared and eyes glistening. Suddenly, Strickland launched himself at him, striking him in the stomach, and carrying him swiftly off the desk in a mangled heap of fur, claws, and teeth. They both hit the ground and rolled, snarling and gnashing at each other, trying to grab clumps of flesh and fur, while raking with their claws and trying to latch onto something with their fangs. Grace recovered first, throwing Strickland from him, sending him sprawling through the air until he slammed into the window to the left of the front door. The glass exploded outwards in a blast of shrapnel, and the gray and brown creature kept going across the hallway, finally slamming into the wall on the far side. He recovered quickly and dropped to the floor in a four-legged crouch, then lumbered back into the office, running straight at his enemy. Grace was ready for him and swung a swift downward punch, drilling Strickland in the side of the head and throwing him roughly to the floor in an ungraceful sideways roll. The dark black creature turned and advanced on the smaller enemy, but he recovered quickly and jumped to all fours, raking all five claws up Grace's thick torso, sending gouts of blood spiraling into the air.

  The Grace creature shrieked in pain and anger. He immediately lashed out, striking Strickland once with a closed fist, and then a second time with jagged claws, hitting him in the face and then across the chest. Gray and brown fur soon soaked with dark red blood as he dropped to a knee and closed his green eyes.

  Deep inside, he knew that even this beast creature wasn't invincible. Quite the opposite actually. With all of the adrenaline, he didn't feel any pain, but any injuries he suffered now would have to be dealt with in human form later. A thick black fist swung down, but Strickland caught it with his own. He punched the larger creature in the ribs with his thick fist, then wrapped his arms around him and spun, flipping him hard into the floor. Grace's eyes narrowed in pain as Strickland followed up the flip with a few more rapid blows, and soon, the larger black beast was on his feet, scrambling away to catch its breath.

  "Impressive," he said, his voice a little more than a husky growl, breathing hard and fast, with blood spattered throughout his dark fur. The two creatures circled each other, both on all fours, and both staring daggers at each other with green slits for eyes. Strickland lunged first, but Grace was ready and caught him. He threw him across the room again, crashing hard into the far wall, sending more spider web cracks across the plaster walls, and jarring loose a few ceiling tiles.

  "Give it up, Strickland," the larger beast said as he approached. "I am better than you in every way."

  The Strickland beast tried to reply. He wanted to reply, but every sound he attempted to make was nothing more than a grumbling growl. Grace stepped closer. The blood loss was having its effect on the smaller creature, both from the claws as well as the broken glass, not to mention the bullet and knife wound from earlier. With his head swimming, he tried hard to keep focused.

  "Even if you somehow survive this," Grace continued, "there are more of us out there. This is just the beginning, little man."

  Strickland snarled and narrowed his eyes again. Suddenly he could feel words forming, almost by their own volition. "Daughters," he snarled. "Where? children?"

  The black wolf creature grinned malevolently. "Ah, yes? your beloved daughters." He paced a bit closer to his opponent. "Remember when I mentioned those unique genetic markers?"

  Strickland narrowed his glare even further.

  "Well, they do run in the family?"

  The howl split from his unfurled lips as if by its own force of nature, and even Grace seemed a bit surprised by the sheer ferocity of it. Strickland followed his own scream with a leap and growl. Suddenly on top of the larger creature, he raked him with claws and clamped his jaws down towards its throat. Even sheer rage couldn't overcome the size and strength difference, and Grace placed an arm between him and Strickland and swept him aside, slamming him back first against the thick oak desk. The impact sent a sudden jarring shudder up his spine. Almost instantly, the red fog cleared from his eyes and even as Strickland tried to cling to some last vestige of beast, it slid right through his clenching fingers. He tried to grasp any small piece of that strength and ferocity, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. He stood there, back against a broken desk staring over at the lumbering black-furred creature that slowly plodded towards him, a toothy grin emerging underneath his animal snout.

  "No, no, no!" Strickland yelled helplessly, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to find some miraculous way to grasp onto the beast's form once again.

  But it was gone.

  "Isn't this too bad?" the creature asked, looking at the now human form in front of him.

  Strickland glared back, a sharp pain stabbing at his left thigh.

  Grace slowly stepped forward. "I was hoping to settle this beast-to-beast? but this will have to do." His voice was a gravelly whisper as he grew nearer and nearer.

  Soon, his face was mere inches from Strickland's, and the hot breath washed over the ex-NSA contractor, the blood and animal stench a complete revulsion.

  "I will eat your heart," Grace growled, and his jaws opened slowly.

  "I'll cut yours out, motherfucker."

  Strickland yanked out the silver letter opener out of his upper thigh and drove it hilt deep into the thick, hairy chest of the Grace creature. The wolf yelped, a surprisingly satisfying cry of pain and shock, and lashed out with a wayward hand, striking Strickland in the chest and sending him sprawling over the desk. Strickland's impact collapsed the desk's already weakened legs, and he crashed to the ground among a splintering of wood and scattering of office supplies.

  "How ironic," Grace hissed. "The man-wolf getting attacked with the silver letter opener." He wrapped a thick dark hand around the handle, and wrenched it free from his chest amidst a spout of dark red. Casually tossing it aside, he stepped forward again. "I'm not a werewolf. It'll take more than that to take me down."

  Strickland looked down amidst the junk and debris that had once been in the desk, and his eyes focused on something.

  Grace stepped closer, drool and blood spattering from his lips to the floor and the desk, only about six feet from Strickland. "You can't stop me. You'll die never knowing what happened to your beautiful little girls. What wonderful soldiers they will make."

  "I will find them, Grace. I will find them, and I will free them."

  Grace smiled. "You and who else, fool?"

  "Me and 44 of my closest friends."

  Grace looked uncertainly at the human form in front of him, but soon realization dawned. The large bore .44 Magnum that had been in the desk drawer had fallen to the floor among the pencils and office supplies, and it was now clutched in Strickland's tight right hand.

  Grace started to laugh. "Oh, please!"

  The first gunshot rang out in the small office, echoing endlessly off the cracked and broken walls. A single .44 slug plowed into the large black wolf's chest, spraying a long jet of dark blood into the air. Grace stumbled backwards, surprised.

  "No silver here, smartass."

  Strickland squeezed the trigger again, and again struck the large black wolf in the chest, and again, another spray of blood vacated his body into the air. He stumbled backwards again.

  "No! Not like this!" The creature that was once Agent Richard Grace surged forward, growling, snarling, and spewing as he closed the distance between himself and Strickland. He was on top of him, snarling, his mouth open wide and straining to close around his enemy's face. Hot, stink-filled breath blaste
d Bill Strickland as the creature pressed hard upon him, forcing him up against the window that looked out upon Grace's beloved city. Strickland could feel the glass weakening behind him as he pressed hard up against it. He squirmed, trying to free his hand. The large, dark creature's grip was like iron, and the smaller man struggled mightily to squirm free.

  "I will eat your face!" Grace shouted again, his teeth closing down around Strickland's straining expression. Puncture wounds pressed down into his cheeks and forehead, and he could feel the warm trickle of blood bubbling around the jagged teeth. Strickland twisted with all of his might, and more blood seeped from his shoulder wound, cascading down his arm. Against his smooth flesh, the red wetness was slick, and for the briefest of seconds, Grace's iron grip slid, just slightly.

  Suddenly, Strickland's hand was free, the pistol was out, and the scowling man pressed the thick metal barrel tight against the underside of Grace's twisted, elongated jawbone.

  A pair of furious, narrow green eyes drilled deep into Strickland's psyche as stained teeth pressed down, a little harder, digging into the flesh around his face and neck. He could feel blood pooling and spreading at the point of these wounds. He started to blackout? he felt his muscles relaxing? he wasn't going to last much longer. There was no more time; he had to do it now. His finger tightened on the trigger.

  One shot.

  Two shots.

  Three shots.

  Four shots.

  All four shots plowed into the underside of Richard Grace's jaw, drilled through his facial structure, and blasted through his brains, carrying the remnants of his once genius IQ out the top of his broken skull.

  Green eyes widened into a look of almost disbelief, unsure of what had just happened. As the fur receded, the claws withdrew, and the skin faded back to a more normal shade. The result was clear.

  Richard Grace slumped to the ground, his lifeless body landing with a dull thump; his eyes glazed over, never to see the genetic paradise for which he'd been working so hard.

  EPILOGUE

  Director David McKie slowly set down the cradle, his eyes closing. This was not going to be a good day.

  For the past twenty-four hours, the NSA cleanup crew had been hard at work in that small town in New Hampshire, working on getting rid of evidence and trying to find some explanation for why the entire town had been in lockdown. Why were four different meat wagons needed to clean out the office? Burndock had come through in a big way and had woven a beautiful tapestry of cover stories, helping to ease many unnecessary questions.

  One question went unanswered. What had happened to the medical school library that same fateful night? A mysterious fire had broken out, and completely eradicated the lower levels of the library, leaving no trace of any possible cause. The fire had started in the basement and had spread incredibly fast, scorching everything below the main level into melted goo and smoke.

  Director McKie hadn't been in the loop on all the elements of Operation: Harvest, though he quickly made up for lost time. He knew GenTech had its nasty claws in it, and he knew they had a New Hampshire division. Yes, something about this whole thing did not smell right. McKie had been vocal about the whole Harvest plan since day one. He was not a devoutly religious man, but he had his own share of moral quandaries when it came to messing with the genetic make-up of mankind, and doing 'God's Work' in test tubes and examination rooms. He had been convinced to table his concerns 'for the greater good,' and as it turned out, the 'greater good' wasn't so fucking great after all.

  Richard Grace had been a terrific agent, and his loss was going to set things back, but even more tragic was the disappearance of William Strickland. At this point, it was tough to tell exactly what happened, but McKie knew that Strickland had been behind it. McKie had decided that this was possibly his chance to put a muzzle on Operation: Harvest for good, but part of him suspected that this would be a tough road to walk. Grace was not the highest ranking agent on the Harvest team, so apparently some folks up the chain had plans, and McKie was pretty sure those plans were far from over.

  How did GenTech play into this whole thing? Their sudden departure had been alarming and posed many questions. It stank of some bigger picture that McKie either wasn't privileged enough to know about, or was simply outside of his pay grade. He wasn't sure which, and he wasn't sure he cared. This messy business would be totally done by this time next week, and he hoped he could move on to other projects that were slightly less? controversial. Time would tell.

  In the skies above Washington, approximately fifteen-thousand feet above where Director McKie currently sat, a small Bell 206-L helicopter moved slowly under the clouds.

  "Where are you taking me?" Asked a gruff voice from inside.

  Doctor Reginald Worthy turned to face the dark-skinned man in the seat next to him. "Mr. Irizarry, I said I would fix you. That is exactly what I plan to do, my friend."

  Gary Irizarry stared down at the stump that had once been his right arm and thought back to that night at the construction yard and that? creature that had taken his arm from him.

  "I'm not going to end up like? like that thing that did this to me, am I?"

  Worthy smiled a broad smile. "Oh, no. We have much better things planned. Strickland was just the very tip of the iceberg, my boy. You have a unique opportunity to be a part of changing the world."

  Irizarry didn't even want that. However, it was a bit too late to turn back now, so he leaned back and let the jostling blue helicopter carry him to dreamland.