This wasn’t like when the Axis had been dabbling in black magic and the OSS had created their first special task forces to deal with it. What better way to fight monsters than with monsters? They’d pulled me in early for those. Originally, I’d thought I was going to sit out Korea, but they’d brought me in as a “consultant” when the Chinese had starting dabbling in the supernatural. I had developed a reputation as a go-to guy in certain circles.
Over the last two years I had been hearing about some strange things the commies had been doing, and I was frankly surprised that it had taken this long for the government to put together another special task force. It only stood to reason that I’d eventually end up in Vietnam.
It was an air-force captain that met me as I got off the chopper. As a “civilian consultant” I didn’t merit a salute, and I’d only been a corporal in the AEF, but he gave me one anyway. I just scowled and asked what that was for.
His name tag read Conover, though I was certain that probably wasn’t his real name. He was an athletic young man, wearing enough cologne to really grate on a werewolf’s nose. “I was told about your OSS record. Very remarkable. North Africa, Paris, Berlin, and then all over the Pacific.”
“Don’t ever salute me again…Snipers, you know.”
He looked around, confused. “We’re in Okinawa.”
“And it’s much nicer than the last time I was here. No flaming samurai demons.”
Captain Conover tried to be as welcoming as possible. He even attempted carry my bags, but he was only human and ended up having to drag one of them to the waiting jeep. We rode across the base until we came to a small concrete building. “Welcome to Special Task Force Unicorn.”
“Unicorn? Really? What Pentagon dipshit makes this stuff up?”
“Everybody knows there’s no such thing as unicorns, Mr. Wolf.”
I hated the new code name.
His dreams were of the beginning. The fiercest beast in the world had been captured, chained, tortured, and mutilated. Then mankind made a terrible mistake, all in hope of making a weapon.
The dream broke and faded as conciseness returned. He couldn’t remember how the dream ended, but it hadn’t been pretty.
At first he thought the Hum was back, but it was just the buzzing noise of the big circular lights hanging from the ceiling. He woke up under a basketball hoop. A blue banner that read GO BULLDOGS was on the wall behind the hoop. The place was crowded, echoing with voices, some scared, some excited, nervous, angry, confused, and under that was that most common refugee sound of alclass="underline" children crying.
He was so hungry that it bordered on nausea. Every spare ounce of fat on his body had been consumed to fuel the change. It took him a minute to piece together that he was lying on a blanket on a hardwood gymnasium floor, somehow alive, tired, weak, sore, in desperate need of a smoke, and by some miracle, not a werewolf.
I’m human. Thank you, Lord, I’m a man again.
Earl Harbinger was a big proponent of having a flexible mind and adapting quickly, but having an unbreakable curse broken was going to take a bit to sink in. He’d long ago accepted that he would die a werewolf. There was no cure, never had been. Yet the mystery Alpha’s magic amulet had sucked the werewolf right out of him.
The amulet had been shaped like a claw, but with only three fingers and a thumb. Inside of it had been carved a normal human hand. Already, he couldn’t remember the dream, but the amulet had been in it. It had been important way back then, and it was important now that this other Alpha had it.
As for the Alpha, he’d called Earl father. That made no sense. Earl knew his kids. He was a devoted family man, and even in the many long years since his wife had passed, he was pretty sure he’d have known if he’d sired any more. Earl might not have been as fundamentally devout as his saintly mother had wished, but he wasn’t the kind of man that left a trail of bastard children behind, either.
That left one other possible use for the word…
But first things first. He needed to assess the situation. Grimacing, Earl sat up, feeling a deep ache in his chest where Deputy Kerkonen had pummeled his ribs doing CPR. It had been a long time since he’d borne that type of pain for more than a few seconds. He’d forgotten about the concept of lingering. Other than the soreness and the hunger, everything seemed to be in one piece.
There were at least two hundred people milling around the gym. Most of them had taken the time to get dressed, but several had arrived in their PJs. At least half the adults were armed. The sight of so many guns, mostly deer rifles and duck guns but with a smattering of black rifles and riot shotguns, made him glad that this was going down in a rural area where people still had their heads screwed on right about personal defense.
There was a knot of people conversing a few feet away. A raven-haired woman in a red parka saw him watching and stomped over in a pair of giant snow boots. “You’re awake. Good. About damn time. Deputy Heather said you knew what was going on.” She was rather tall, probably in her mid-forties, and struck him as the kind of person used to being in charge. The men she’d been talking with followed her over. “Well, spill it, mister.”
He would’ve gotten up, but realized that under the blanket he was buck naked, and there were children present. “Who’re you?”
“Nancy Randall, Copper County Council.” She glanced around the gym. “Only surviving member, as far as I can tell.” The men flanking her regarded Earl with blatant suspicion. One had a Mossberg 500 and the other had an AR-15. Neither was overt enough to actually point their guns at him, but he could tell they thought about it. He couldn’t particularly blame them, either. It had been a stressful night, and he was an outsider and therefore suspect. “And since I personally saw a hairy wolfman rip the mayor’s head off, and Heather said the sheriff lost his neck, I suppose I’m sort of in charge of this mess. So, what’s the deal?”
“Name’s Harbinger. I’m a Monster Hunter.” She seemed like the type to appreciate brevity, so Earl didn’t beat around the bush. “Well, Nancy, your town’s being attacked by a pack of werewolves. They’ve got you isolated, and I figure they plan on slaughtering everyone here by dawn.”
The two men exchanged glances. The one with the Mossberg was fat, bald, and sweating. The one with the AR was thin, young, and nervous.
“That’s insane,” the thin one said.
“Zip it, Phillip,” Nancy ordered. “Werewolves…That’s exactly what Heather said you’d say.”
“I shot one in the head. Point-blank,” the fat one said. “I blew its brains out! Then it got back up and jumped out a second-story window and ran away like nothing had happened. I’ll believe anything right now.”
“Yes, Steve,” Nancy said in the most patronizing manner possible. “We’ve all heard about the brains thing already. Blah, blah, blah. Give it a rest already.” She turned back to Earl. “So, what do we do about these damn things?”
He could mount a defense against the werewolves with these people. They were a sturdy bunch, but wasn’t so sure about the mystery Alpha, the Old One’s minions, or the black magic. He needed a chance to ponder on what to do about those. “Any of you got a smoke?”
“There’s no smoking on school grounds!” Phillip exclaimed.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “If you haven’t noticed, it’s the end of the world. Pull that stick out of your ass and go get this man some clothes.”
“There should be a pack in the backseat of my truck. Is it here-big black Ford?”
“It’s in the lot,” Phillip grumbled and then stomped off. Nancy took a pack of Virginia Slims and a disposable lighter out of her coat pocket. “Forgive my friend. He’s the principal of our fine high school. Phillip is normally a gentleman to a fault, but it’s been a stressful night.”