“I can’t believe that the General has us out here,” Private Santiago Aguilar grumbled as he trekked over the thick forest brush. He looked to his left, at Sergeant Carolyn Powell. “Did he say why we’re out here?”
Sergeant Powell did not return his look, nor did she answer his question. Instead, she moved in relative silence, her steps gracefully avoiding each bush, hole, and exposed root that Private Aguilar proceeded to find. The two continued in relative silence for several more minutes before reaching a clearing in the trees, giving a view of the clear purple-orange sky as the sun readied to depart for the day.
“We’ll set up camp here,” Powell said. She slips off the large rucksack and lets it fall to the ground with a thud. “We can pick up the trail again at first light.”
Aguilar allowed his own rucksack to fall from his back and onto the ground just behind his feet. The rest of the evening was quiet, with Powell and Aguilar setting up their tents and unrolling their sleeping bags. By the time the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Aguilar and Powell had retired to their own tents. The night was still, and the absolute lack of noise left Aguilar alone with his thoughts – a position he seldom enjoyed being in. But as a breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby trees, Santiago Aguilar felt himself beginning to drift into slee—
Aguilar snapped upright in his sleeping bag at the loud crash outside his tent. A moment later there was a scream; a loud, blood-curdling shriek of pure terror coming from the direction of Powell’s tent. Aguilar scrambled out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his rifle – a highly-customized M4 – and stormed out of his tent.
The eerie stillness had returned. Aguilar looked around, weapon at the ready, and found… nothing. Nobody. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what had caused the crash which snapped him out of his near-slumber. He looked over at Powell’s tent and saw through the moonlight that the tent had been ripped open. Swallowing his fear, Aguilar slowly approached the ruined tent. But when he peered inside he found more of the same: nothing. Aguilar leaned forward to get a better look inside the tent. Looking into the tent, Aguilar found Powell’s uniform jacket and her sidearm. Whatever happened to her, she didn’t have time – or maybe didn’t have the chance – to arm herself.
The sound of a twig snapping pulled Aguilar’s attention away from the tent. Standing over by his own tent he saw the shadowed silhouette of a figure. It was hunched over, its fingers flexing, going fully straight before slowly closing in fight fists, before extending once again. Its chest heaved with each labored breath. Aguilar looked a moment, perplexed.
“Powell,” Aguilar asked. The figure said nothing. “Sergeant? You okay?” Aguilar took a step towards the shadowed figure. The beast let out a pained roar as it charged at Aguilar. The Private scrambled backwards as he readied his rifle, and fired a quick three-round burst. The beast’s chest burst bright red as it flailed and fell to the ground in a heap. Aguilar scrambled backwards a few more feet before leaping to his feet, his rifle never leaving the figure. It did not move. Aguilar approached the body with slow, cautious steps. It still did not move. With his foot, Aguilar rolled the figure over.
“Oh, what the fuck.”
Aguilar looked down at the creature. Not quite human. Not quite beast. Tufts of fur poked out from tears in what was, at one time, a jungle Battle Dress Uniform. Its eyes were wide with yellow discs encircling black irises. Its mouth, bloodied and open, revealed razor fangs. As Aguilar struggled to process just what in the hell he was staring at, another guttural howl shattered the stillness of the campsite. A second howl answered and then a third. Each one sounded louder than the last. This thing had friends, and they were coming closer.
“Fuck this!”
Aguilar turned and broke for the tree line. He leapt over tree branches and skipped around rocks. He could only barely hear the howls and cries of the creatures over the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. As he looks for a place to stop and rest, Aguilar sees a large overturned tree stump. He turns and makes a break for it but only after about ten feet he skids to a stop. Another of those beasts stands tall on the stump. It turns its head upwards towards the sky and let out another ear-piercing cry. Aguilar lifted his rifle and fired several rounds, three of them striking the werewolf. Clouds of red plumed from the beast’s chest as it stumbled backwards, falling off of the log and landing on the ground with a thud. It let out a groan and rolled onto its side before it stopped moving altogether.
The Private turned around to find two more creatures staring him down. The Private raised his rifle as the first charged, and he quickly put it down with three more shots. The second took a step, then hesitated. Aguilar took no chances. He quickly turned his rifle on the second monster and opened fire. The first shot sailed wide, but the second, then third, then fourth all hit. Red fluid splattered as the beast flew backwards and fell to the ground.
Another howl in the distance pulled Aguilar’s attention back towards the log. How many of these things are there?! The young Private turned to his right and ran deeper into the forest.
Not far from the fallen tree, no more than forty yards or so, Aguilar stumbled into another small clearing. At one time this was a campsite. An old red tent, or at least what used to be an old red tent, stands half-collapsed a few feet away form a makeshift fire pit that nature had long reclaimed. But what grabbed Aguilar’s attention was the slender figure standing in the clearing, its back to him. Its fingers curled and extended, same as the others, and its breath was labored. And yet, unlike the others, this one had an aura of familiarity about it.
“Powell,” Aguilar called to the figure in a voice barely above a whisper. Slowly the figure turned. Under the light of the full moon Aguilar could clearly make out the tufts of hair sticking out from the tears in the creature’s uniform. He could also make out, just barely, the shape of what looked to be growing snout – not unlike that of a Siberian wolf.
“Shit,” Aguilar said to himself as he raised his rifle. “Sorry, Sergeant. Taking a breath, Aguilar squeezed the trigger and the rifle responded with a hollow click. Aguilar pulled the trigger a second time, and then a third, and each time was met with nothing. Powell snarled and took a step towards him. Aguilar, having accepted that the weapon was empty, hurled the rifle at the creature that had once been Sergeant Powell – who smacked it away with little effort.
Aguilar turned to run and was met by one of the werewolves he thought he had killed in the forest, its chest smeared in dark red. The Private stumbled to his right and began to sprint towards the tree line. He looked over his shoulder to see Powell and the other beast giving chase. Aguilar, a former high school track star, moved with a careless swiftness. His feet carried him towards the trees – that is until he felt a sudden strong pull on his right foot. He fell forward. He heard a snap. He felt an explosion of pain in his right ankle. Aguilar let out a cry as he rolled onto his back and reached out towards his foot – but saw Powell and the other creature closing in, stalking him. The Private scrambled backwards, desperate to create distance between himself and these monsters. But it was no use. He only made it six or seven feet before he felt himself scrambling back against a tree. His hands grabbed wildly for anything he could use as a weapon: a rock, a stick, a discarded firearm (a desperate man can dream, can’t he?). Alas, he found nothing.
It only took a few seconds for Powell and the other beast to close the gap between themselves and Aguilar. Powell took point, lowering to a crouch as she sized up her prey. The other beast howled into the night sky, and was met with several howls of reciprocation. Soon the others would be here. Aguilar knew that he had lost. He had failed. This would not be his night.
But mostly, his ankle screamed.
Powell moved to pounce on the young soldier when Aguilar, fear replaced with frustration, shouted: “WAIT!”
Powell froze. She stared at Aguilar. She saw the pain in his eyes, the grimace on his face. She noted how his right leg was outstretched, nearly straight. She stood up and looked down at the young private.
“Are you hurt or are you injured, Private,” she asked in a disarmingly normal voice.
Aguilar grimaced. “I think it’s broken.”
Powell sighed. She reached to her belt and pulled a wide-barreled pistol from her holster. She pointed it high above her head and pulled the trigger. Aguilar, along with Powell and the third creature, who answered to Brad, were washed in a red glow as the flare launched high into the sky…
Cellstrike medics were in the process of loading Aguilar into the back of an ambulance when Powell, wolf snout in one hand, reached over and gave his knee a reassuring pat. “All things considered, Private,” Powell assured him. “You did good. Now get some rest.” Aguilar allowed himself to smile before one of the medics closed the back of the ambulance and, giving it two firm smacks, signaled to the driver to get on the road. The vehicle pulled away to take the young soldier to the nearby hospital.
After spending a few moments to watch the ambulance speed away, Powell turned and started off towards the large command tent. As the sun crept over the horizon, turning the sky brilliant shades of purple and orange, an imposing figure emerged from the command tent. He took in a deep breath of cool morning air, and then a long sip of his black coffee, before giving Powell a familiar smile.
“Great work, Sergeant,” barked General Fury. Powell acknowledged the compliment by giving the General a slight bow, as though she were a stage actor reveling in the adoration of the audience.
“Thank you, General,” Powell said. She smiled. “Out of curiosity, whose idea was this? I mean, don’t get me wrong – this was a lot of fun – but werewolves? That doesn’t exactly seem like it would be in your wheelhouse, sir.”
“No, Sergeant, it most definitely is not,” Fury said. “If it were up to me, you and Aguilar would still be out in the field fending off wave after wave of Redcell operatives. However, Val was insistent that we do something more ‘thematic with the season’.”
Powell nodded. “Well, good on her. This was fun.”
“I’m glad you think so, Sergeant,” Fury said. He allowed Powell to see the faintest hit of a smile. “And I look forward to reading your full report.”
