Werewolf Chronicles Chapter 2

Werewolf Chronicles

Chapter 2

         The armored car lay on its side, smoke and flames billowing out of the driver’s cabin.  The front grill was smashed in several pieces, its headlights casting crazy beams across the night sky.  It was a heavily modified Ford van, smaller than its larger counterparts and usually easier to handle.  The black paint on its side was marred by the crash, along with bullet dents and severely shredded tires.  The vehicle had rolled to a stop against the pillar for an overpass, its passenger side against the ground.  The windshield had been completely blown out, lying in pieces along the roadway and the driver’s door was bulged out from the inside.
         James’ Dodge Truck across the highway, skidding to a halt beside the ruined armored vehicle.  The driver’s side was scratched and dented along its length, the mirror missing completely with bullet holes riddling the paint.  He exploded out of the driver’s door, sprinting towards the wreck at a dead run.  The werewolf form took over James’ body as he dove for the car’s doors, tearing them open with his massive claws.
         “Elisa!?”
- - - -
Several Days Earlier

James fed wood to the flame, knowing it was too hot for a fire, but that it would keep most of the mosquitoes away.  Elisa and himself had gone camping only a few weeks ago, and most of their stuff was still in the bed of his truck.  The bullets in his side were still burning fiercely, even though he had changed back into a human; every time he reached inside, the wound burned more, so he had stopped messing with them for the time being.
         Lisa stared angrily at him across the fire, sitting on a rotted log with her arms crossed.  “Those are silver bullets, that’s why you can’t touch them.”
         He grunted at her.  “You already told me.  Ready to start giving me some answers?”
         “What do you want to know?”
         James pulled a log away from the brush to use as a seat, leaning forward on his knees.  “Let’s start with who you are, and why the hell you were in my house?”
         “You already know my name.”
         “Not your last name.”
         “I’m not that stupid James,” she crossed her arms, waiting for him to respond, but he remained quiet.  “I hunt your kind, vampires, and any other monsters we find.  So far, we’ve been doing it for almost six years . . . at least the ones that have survived.”
         “High mortality rate?”
         “Yes,” Lisa answered bitterly.
         “So who were those people in my house, they looked pretty well equipped.”
         “None of the hunters I know, might be one of the vampire hunters, or the government.”
         “They went down easy, especially if they were vampires . . .”
         “Your kind isn’t especially well liked anywhere, it could be anyone,” she snapped.
         James growled deeply, surprised at his aggressiveness.  Should have killed her, he thought.  “I didn’t exactly ask for this, you know.”
         “Give me back my gun, and I can end all your suffering.”
         The sound of people moving through the trees drifted to his ears a moment before the attackers burst into the open.  He dove over the fire, the flames singing his clothing, landing hard on the other side and rolling onto the balls of his feet.  Ignoring the pain in his body, he ripped the submachine gun from the truck, swinging it towards his unseen attackers.  Smells assaulted his nose, some kind of mix between wolf and man, more people than he could count with his nose.  Shit.  He swung the weapon around, scanning the sounds around him, looking for any target to present itself.  His sides burned fiercely, and he could feel more blood pouring down his side the more he moved.
         Movement to his right caught his peripheral vision, and he twisted, aiming the weapon at the dark figure.  His head grew light as his vision faded, he felt himself start to topple to one side, the submachine gun clattering onto the ground shortly before his body hit the dirt.  He pulled his arms beneath his body, trying to push up, but the muscles refused to respond.  The browned haired woman from the parking lot was standing over him, aiming a combat shotgun at his face.  “Crap.”
- - - -
         James dreamt again, but this time it was peaceful, and comfortable.  He was resting among a pack of wolves, in a small clearing.  The clearing was warm and comfortable, as the slept on the soft leaves and foliage.  Scents assaulted his nose, new and friendly ones, almost like family, but not quite.  His head snapped up, and he began looking around, sniffing at the air and looking around.  James was looking for his wife, he knew he had to find her soon, but he didn’t even know where to start.
- - - -
         Loud howling pulled him from his short dream, and as consciousness returned he was aware of burning pain down his back and side.  He rubbed his muzzle against the tree in front of him, coughing at his dry throat.  Must have been me howling.  Thick leather bands held his claws on the other side of a large tree, and he could hear movement of several people behind him.  James tried to twist his head around to see the people behind him, but as he did so another jab of pain poked into his side.  It was dull at first, as he felt something poke into his aching wound; it was tolerable until the thing poking him hit the silver bullet.  As soon as the silver was moved, pain erupted through his body; another earsplitting howl escaped his lips as the slug was pulled quickly from his body.
         “Shit, fuck, hell,” James swore against the tree, smacking his forehead against it.
         “That was the last one,” a harsh female voice said behind him.  There was rustling in the trees around him as the brown haired woman appeared in his vision.  “How are you feeling?”
         “Peachy,” he grunted.  “Who are you?”
         “Katalyn.”
         “I’d shake your hand but . . .” a smirk appeared across his muzzle as he gestured towards the thick leather bonds.
         “If I release you, will you promise not to attack me?”
         “As long as you don’t give me a reason to.”
         She stared menacingly at him for a long time before unlatching the restraints and taking a large step back, readying her shotgun.
         James let his sore arms fall down to his side, turning his back to the woman and scanning it with his eyes.  Men and women of all sorts now filled the clearing; they were dressed in everything from hunting gear, to dirty looking business suits.  Lisa was lying facedown on the ground, her arms and feet hogtied with duct tape behind her back.  None of the people seemed surprised at his appearance, and it dawned on him that the human/wolf scent was coming from these people.  James took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself and return to his human form.  It took him a long time before his body stopped shaking, his heart slowed, and his body slowly returned to its smaller form.
         “Impressive,” Katalyn said, clapping slowly as she walked back to the clearing.  “Most new Lycanthropes have trouble controlling their transformations so early.”
         “Yeah well, I guess I’m just special like that.”  He pushed his way among the other people, sitting on the log beside Lisa’s restrained form.  “So, who the hell are you and what do you want?”
         A barrel chested man with scraggily black hair pushed his way to Katalyn.  “He has a short temper.”
         “Well, I think I have a right to, the last few hours have been kind of shitty.  So, unless you have something to say to me say it, otherwise fuck off.  I need to find my wife.”
         The large man started towards James, but Katalyn held him back with a firm hand and several whispers in his ear.  She walked aggressively towards him, kicking Lisa in the ribs as she passed and sat beside him.  “We want to help you find your wife, but . . .”
         “But what?”
         “It could bring more hunters like her.”
         James grinded his teeth, popping his jaw angrily.  “Nothing is more important than my wife.  Nothing.”
         “You have responsibilities now, to your pack, and your kind.”
         “I didn’t ask for this, and I didn’t ask for someone to take my wife,” he shot to his feet, marching towards his truck.  Two of the men stepped in front of him, aiming their weapons at his chest.  “Get the hell out of my way.”
         “James, come back with us to our home, maybe we can help you . . .”
         He reached inside the truck, retrieving a small plastic bag containing the hunter’s belongings and tossed in onto Lisa’s form.  “Fine, but she stays here, unharmed.”
         “Outrageous,” the large man exploded, “she’s a hunter!  We should kill her now, and save other lycans!”
         “Well, she may be a bitch, but she didn’t kill me, and I’m not about to kill someone in cold blood.” James began, looking into Lisa’s terrified eyes as she stared at him.  “I figure if she can get out of here on her own, she deserves it.  If not, well . . .”
- - - -
         James sat on the house’s porch, watching as the sun rose slowly over the horizon.  Its orange rays burned across his skin, and he closed his eyes enjoying the feeling.  He had changed into new clothes again, knowing that if he kept changing, his clothing supplies would soon be gone.  The pack’s safe house was nestled barely off the highway, but the thick trees and foliage around it hid it completely from any prying eyes.  Katalyn walked up from behind him, leaning against the porch’s railing, and staring at the rising sun.
         “How are you doing?” she asked.
         “Peachy,” James said without looking at her.  “So is your pack going to help me?”
         “You’re a part of this pack James, this is your pack as well.”
         He grunted, swearing under his breath.
         “Maxwell doesn’t want to help you, he believes it will bring more hunters after the pack.”
         “Maxwell?”
         “The large man who wanted to tear your head off.”
         “Oh.  Well, what do you think?”
         “I have to agree with him.”
         “Fuck, look if you . . .”
         “But, we might be able to help you some.”
         James bite back on his anger, barely holding onto it and waiting for Katalyn to continue.
         “The men who attacked you were from a organization called Aperture Science, they are dedicated to understanding our kind; their words, not mine.  Most of their understanding involves dissecting and experimenting.”
         “And those fucks have Elisa?”
         “We’re not sure, but our informants told us that one of their science teams rented space at the hospital around the same time as the attack on your apartment.”
         “Well, it’s a start at least.  Could you loan me some weapons?”
         “I’ll see.”
- - - -
         James walked nervously towards the hospital entrance, dressed in one of the fallen commandos’ tactical vests and a similar black jumpsuit.  He had seen other commandos walking in and out of the hospital, assuming that they had been doing security checks of the perimeter.  His heart pounded against his rib cage, beating nervously and loudly; he half expected it to burst out of his chest.  One of the other commandos nodded at him as they passed, pulling a cigarette out of his vest in passing.  Continuing down the hallways, he made his way towards the sounds of activity in the hospital.  The entire building was oddly deserted, but he knew enough money could accomplish anything and renting a private hospital wasn’t impossible.
         He pushed his way into one of the loading areas, brushing past another of the commandos.  Inside were several white coated doctors, each busy over a cage in the center of the room.  James could barely make out someone strapped to what looked like a dentist’s chair, but as he pushed closer a hand wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him around.
         The commando he had brushed against was staring down at him, a scowl across his face.  “I don’t recognize you, what’s your name?”
         Shit.  “I’m new, I was just hired . . .”
         “Bullshit,” the man was quickly joined by two of his companions, each taking one of James’ arms.
         “Hey, get the hell off of me!” James yelled angrily.  He could feel the beast in the back of his head, gnawing at him to turn and attack the three men, but he knew that would be suicide.  These men were definitely well armed, and wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him.
         “Who are you?”
         “That’s an interesting question.  Who are any of us?  Its . . .”  The man interrupted James with a heavy fist into his gut, forcing the air out of his lungs in a loud whoosh.  “Ow.”
         The man hit James again for good measure, the two men forced to hold him up as his vision grayed around the edges.  “Who are you?”
         Think fast.  “I’m a . . . private investigator . . . I was hired to spy on you.”
         He thought for a moment, staring at James.  “Who hired you, his name?”
         “No name, he was a paranoid old man, paid cash.  I just forward my stuff to an e-mail address.”
         “What’s the e-mail?”
         James rattled off one of his free e-mail accounts, knowing it would be nearly impossible to trace.  “Never any face contact.”
         “Good enough,” the man drew his sidearm, pressing the barrel against James’ forehead.
         Transform, tear their faces off, the voice in the back of his head demanded.  Instead, James head butted the pistol, knocking it out of the man’s grip and onto the floor.  Twisting his hand, he grabbed one of the other man’s pistols, firing it into its owner’s thigh.  The wounded man fell to the ground and James twisted, a moment too late, as a slug tore into his shoulder, making his next shot go wide and into a wall.  Letting himself fall onto the floor, he continued to fire the pistol, sending two rounds into the front commando’s gut; he doubled over in pain, blood seeping onto the floor.  Two rounds slammed into the floor beside his head, throwing bits of flooring into his face, leaving small cuts.  He threw both his feet into the remaining guard’s knees, hearing them pop as he fell.  Not wasting any time, James dropped the pistol, sprinting back the way he had come.
         Two doctors wandered in front of him, both intent on their own conversation and not noticing the running man.  James plowed into them, ripping one of their jackets off in his hand as he pushed his way into the night sky.  He continued to run across the parking lot, hearing bullets whizzing around him and tearing into the pavement.  Another round slammed into his thigh, knocking the leg out from under him, and tumbling him into the small road.  Bright lights bathed him as a large semi-truck barreled down on him, the horn sounding in his ear.  “Shit!” he swore, rolling away from the heavy vehicle.  Pain exploded through his shoulder as the heavy bumper smacked into him, tossing his body across the road.
         He felt his body crash into the guardrail, whipping around the metal beams and down a steep hill beyond the shoulder.  Mud and foliage stuck to his skin as he continued to roll, smacking into rocks and trees during his descent.  He landed face up in an icy stream, the muddy water splashing into his wounds and burning.  “Ow . . .”
- - - -
         “Wake up James.”
         “Hell . . .” he groaned, refusing to open his eyes.  His body was sore, but he expected it to feel worse after what he had gone through.
         “Wake up.”
         “Fuck.”  James sat up wearily, his eyes meeting Katalyn’s.  They were in a small, vacant RV, electric lights illuminating the dark interior.
         She was straddling a small folding chair, and he could hear others moving outside.  “Sore?”
         “Yeah, but I thought I was dead.”  He was lying on the RV’s small bed, still dressed in the muddy clothes from before.
         “The benefit to being a lycanthrope is faster healing, you’re just lucky those were normal bullets.”
         “Yeah,” he rubbed his eyes tiredly, pushing himself off the bed.  “Why are you here?  I thought you weren’t going to help me?”
         “No, but I wanted to check on you . . . against Maxwell’s wishes.”
         James grunted, taking his weapons off the trailer’s counter, returning them to their respective holsters.  “He doesn’t like me, huh?”
         “No, he thinks you’re a threat to the pack.”
         “Well, am I?”
         “Normally a pack member needs permission to create another member, you . . .”
         “I was an accident,” he interrupted.  “Who did it anyway?”
         “Turn you?”
         “Yeah.”
         “We haven’t see either of them since they were arrested,” Katalyn said angrily.  “I think its time you go find your wife.”
         “Are the Aperture guys still at the hospital?”
         “It looks like they’re getting ready to leave soon.”
         “Well, I’ll have to stop them then,” he smirked.
         “What is your plan James?”
         “Don’t know.”
- - - -
         Three black SUV’s sped out of the darkness, darting towards the hospital entrance, each skidding to a jolting stop.  Black clad commandos moved out of the vehicles, skillfully covering one another as they moved towards the entrance.  Bullets erupted out of the doors, cutting down the leading commandos, but they were only down for a moment, before rising again and returning to the fight.
         “What now?” James groaned, watching the firefight from his parked truck.  The fight moved swiftly inside the hospital, the attacking commandos easily pushing back the defending Aperture Science soldiers.  He sped the truck around the edge of the hospital, trying to keep the large red vehicle hidden was nearly impossible, but he tried to at least look unimportant.
         A black, armored van burst out of the emergency room loading dock, plowing through several parked cars and swerving out onto the highway.  He stopped the truck, unsure which way to go; investigate the ongoing battle, or chase the escaping van.  Deciding, he pushed his foot hard on the accelerator, the Dodge’s tires squealed against the pavement as he chased after the van.  Even though his truck had more horsepower than the armored van, it was already entering the highway as he caught up to it.
         Even though it was early in the morning, there was enough traffic for the van to gain more distance on James, cutting sharply around the slower cars.  He swerved onto the shoulder, the truck’s large tires throwing gravel into the windshields behind him; several drivers swerved crazily, crashing into other drivers.  The engine roared loudly, as he used the open road ahead of him to close the distance between himself and the van.  His speedometer needle was pushing nearly ninety miles per hours as he drew even with the armored vehicle.  There were two commandos in the driver’s cab; the driver arguing with the passenger, while the passenger talked hurriedly on a small radio.
         James turned the wheel hard, aiming for the middle of the van.  Its two passengers didn’t notice him until the red truck slammed into its side.  The driver fought for control, shouting at the other man and pointing at James’ truck; the passenger shoved a weapon out the side gun port, aiming it carefully.  He slammed on the brakes as the commando fired, the bullets tearing into the pavement ahead of him.  James gunned the accelerator again, crashing his bumper into the rear of the van; the van’s tires swerved back and forth, its driver fighting to keep it under control.
         He pushed the acquired submachine gun out the window, emptying the entire magazine into the side of the armored vehicle.  Several of the bullets tore through the tires, but its run flats refused to pop and continued to keep the vehicle rolling.  The van slowed this time, the passenger firing several rounds through James’ driver door.  The bullets ripped into his thigh and side, blood spraying across the interior and windshield.
         “Ow, son of a whore!” he swore, reaching into his passenger seat and rummaging through a small duffel bag there, which had been packed with weapons from the pack.
         Red and blue lights flashing in his mirrors drew is attention, his head snapping up and looking behind.  There was one highway patrol car far behind their chase, and he could see another one quickly gaining on the first.  “Shit.”  His hand finally landed on what he had been looking for, pulling it out with a shout of triumph.  In his hand was a modified M203 grenade launcher; a composite handle and shoulder pad had been fitted on the weapon.  “Fuck this.”
         He swerved the truck towards the van again, aiming his window towards the gun port.  The passenger inside tried to fire at him again, but James was faster, shoving the rifle back inside.  In the same movement, he shoved the barrel of the M203 into the port, pulling the trigger.  The 40mm grenade thudded against his shoulder as it launched into the cabin, bouncing off the driver’s window.  In order to fire the weapon, James had released the steering wheel, and the truck almost immediately turned away.  He knew that the high explosive round of the army’s 40mm grenade round took at least thirty meters to arm, and he was doubting that it would exploded.  He was turning back towards them as the cabin erupted in a deafening boom, the front windshield blowing out in a gout of flame.
         The van darted off the road, now driverless and aiming for a ditch.  The front tires were thrown into the air as they hit the uneven ground, the back tires catching and yanking the vehicle back down.  As the tires landed again, the punctured run flats exploded, tipping the heavy van towards its passenger side.  Momentum flipped it into the air, rolling it end over end down the highway and ripping large chunks of asphalt out.  The rear of the van slammed into a guardrail, spinning it around several more times before it crashed into a bridge pillar and rocked to a stop.
         James slammed his foot into the brake, the truck’s wheels stuttering across the pavement and yanking the truck to a rough stop.  He shoved the door open, sprinting towards the wreck at a dead run, transforming into his werewolf mid stride.  His claws scraped against the pavement, stopping him in front of the damaged van’s doors.  Using the massive strength in his new arms, he grabbed the armored door, prying it open.  Groaning with the effort, the door finally pulled free of its lock and swung slowly open.
         “Elisa!?” he asked, peering inside.
         Everything inside the van’s compartment had been thrown around during the crash, except for the large cage cabled to the floor.  Two commandos were at the back of the space, each of their necks bent at awkward angles, and blood oozing from their mouths.  Three body bags had been shoved into the corner during the crash, clinical tags tied to each bag.  What caught his attention though was the young boy tied in the center of the cage.  He looked in his mid teens, with ratty blonde hair and blue eyes; dirt covered most of his pale body, and there were bloody marks where blood had been removed.
         “Hey, are you okay?” James asked, shaking the cage.
         The boy jerked awake, his eyes landing on James for a moment before he spoke.  “Y-y-yeah, but my Mom and Dad,” the boy motioned at the body bags on the floor.
         “Nothin’ we can do for them now, let’s get you out of there.”  James reached forward, grabbing the cage door and quickly pulled his paws back as searing pain raced through his palms.  “Fuck.”
         “Its silver,” the boy groaned.
         “Aw, hell with it.”  He reached forward, screaming as the silver burned through his palms, but he held on long enough to rip the lock open and throw the door away.  “Get in my truck.”
         “But, my parents . . .” the boy started to move towards the body bags.
         James could hear police sirens screaming up the highway, getting closer every moment.  “We don’t have time, get in my . . .”
         The patrol car whipped around the corner, aiming directly for the wreck and the two people.  Its sirens were silent, and the driver’s eyes were wide as they landed on James’ werewolf form.  He stiff armed the boy out of the way, turning his shoulder towards the patrol as it crashed into him.  The impact threw him into the air, bones breaking loudly in the impact; he slammed into the windshield, rolling across the room and tearing off the emergency lights.  As he was on the roof, the patrolman locked the car’s tires and James was thrown back onto the hood.
         “Ugh,” he groaned, staring up at the stars, not wanting to move and increase the pain he was in.
         “Put your hands where I can see them,” the patrolman had exited his car and was aiming his pistol at the boy’s injured form.
         James sat up, swearing as his broken rib grated against each other, even though they had already began to heal.  “Leave ‘em alone.”
         The patrolman twisted around, staring at James.  “What the hell!?”
         “Get back in your car, and leave.”
         He spun, three shots echoing loudly in the night air.  The bullets tore through James’ stomach, splattering blood across the already damaged hood.  Growling, James leapt across the distance, grabbing the man’s wrist and yanking the pistol away.  He tore the patrol car’s rear door open, tossing the man inside as he ripped his gear belt away and slammed the door shut.  “Stay in there, I’m sure you’re buddies will be around soon.”  James reached inside, tearing the dash cam away and crushing it between his palms then turning towards the boy.  “Get in the damn truck now!”
- - - -
         “Do you know who he is?” James asked the woman prying the slugs out of his gut.
         Her name was Rachel Mooring; she had neatly cut brown hair and matching eyes and was in her late thirties.  She claimed that she used to be a nurse, but James wasn’t sure she hadn’t been a veterinarian instead.  Rachel kept staring up at him, then back at the wounds, but didn’t say anything.
         “What is it?” he grunted again.
         “How long have you been a werewolf again?”
         “ ‘bout three weeks,” he gritted his teeth as the last slug was ripped out of his stomach.
         “Remarkable, just simply remarkable,” Rachel muttered, gathering her supplies and walking away.
         James pulled on a new shirt, standing and walking towards the small group around the boy.  “I’m running out of clothes . . .”
         Maxwell stepped in front of him, placing one large hand on his chest.  “Where are you going?”
         “To check on that boy, why?”
         “He’s none of your business.”
         “Like hell, I want to know what happened in that hospital, my . . .”
         “Kyle’s part of my pack, and my pack will take care of him.”
         “Get out of my goddamn way, you fucking fur ball!”
         “You fucking runt, if . . .”
         Katalyn appeared between them, placing a firm hand on each of the men’s chest.  “Both of you calm down, it won’t help the pack any.  Maxwell, take care of our pack and make sure Kyle is alright.  James, get the fuck out of here and cool down.”
         James started to argue, but decided against it, grabbing his mangled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one as he stomped outside.  He wanted to know what Kyle had seen in that hospital, whether or not Elisa had been there and where she might be.  Maxwell needed his attitude fixed, but James wasn’t ready to get into a fight with the large man . . . yet.  “Hell with this place.”  He flung the still smoldering butte into the grass, diggings his keys out of his pocket and marching towards his truck.
         “James, where are you going?” Katalyn shouted, chasing after him.
         He was starting the truck’s engine as she caught up to him.  “After my wife, what the hell did you think?”
         “I can help . . .”
         “Yeah, you’ve done a lot so far.  Just get the hell out of my way.”
         “I want you to stay here, you won’t be able to help your wife without help.”
         “I’ve got help,” he held up several of the commandos’ wallets and a doctor’s ID badge.  “Now move.”
         Katalyn’s voice was cut off as James pushed the accelerator hard, slamming the door on her hand and peeling across the dirt.  She screamed in anger, no one in her pack ever acted like that, not when they were in danger.  Her wolf form took over in a flash, her claws tearing into the Dodge’s side panel.  Katalyn’s form was a lithe, strong werewolf, with white hair and a long, bushy tail.  “Damn him.”
         James was nearly back onto the main road when his phone rang.  At first he wasn’t going to answer it, but he decided to at least check the phone number.  Elisa!?  James nervously tapped the talk button.  “Elisa is that you?”
         “James, they took me, I need your help . . .”
         “Where are you?”
         “They’re going to break down the door.”  As if on queue, there were several loud pounds from the other end of the phone.
         “Elisa, where are you?”
         “Damn it James, I don’t know.”
         He chewed his lower lip, thinking.  “Can you leave your phone on, hide it or something?”
         “Yeah, but why . . .”
         “Just do it, I’ll find you.”  Elisa’s response was crowded out by the door slamming open, and angry shouts filling the space she was in.  There were several loud gunshots, followed by shuffling feet and bodies.  “Babe, I’m on my way.”