Of Wolves and Men (11 page)

“We’ll regroup at the UHP in Salt Lake City once we do a little ground work.” He checked his watch. “Any questions?”

As several men spoke to the lead agent, Roman said to Phil, “Looks like we got the easy part for a change.”

“For now.” Phil glanced at the men around them. “Wait until we find the cache of weapons.

Then the real fun begins.”

An hour later, he and Phil had all their gear loaded up in the trunk of their SUV; laptop computers, SWAT uniforms, and AK assault rifles. They hit Interstate 80 and drove from Reno to Salt Lake City in a caravan of black cars and SUVs. Roman was excited. New work in a different state, backing up local sheriff’s departments, that’s what he lived for.

He and Phil checked into a hotel room near the Utah Highway Patrol headquarters. An hour later, they were sitting at their computers tapping into the history of the Ute and Shoshoni tribes, checking names against their computer data bases.

“Not one with a criminal record.” Phil scratched his head and yawned. “Other than traffic violations.”

“You think they got it wrong? What if it’s not the tribe setting up the illegal gaming. I’ve known biker groups to do more damage to the local area than Native Americans.”

“I suppose that’s what we’re here to figure out.” Phil tapped more keys on the laptop.

While Phil was at the desk in the hotel room, Roman sat propped up against the headboard of one of the double beds, his computer on his thighs. “The guys giving you any shit for rooming with me?”

“Nope. Not a bit. They know you better than that. And I hope they know I’m straight and can’t be turned even by a guy like you, Burk.”

Roman smiled as he browsed through web information for any indication of biker groups infiltrating the area. “I don’t have time for a relationship anyway. In this job, all we do is travel.”

“I hear ya. I think most of the guys who started this work with a wife have gotten divorced.”

“True.”

Roman’s cell phone rang. He flipped it out of his pocket and said his name, “Burk…” knowing it was his lead supervisor.

“Got a tip from the sheriff’s office over in a town called Heber that something’s going on right now. Gear up and meet at UHP.”

“Right.” Roman began closing down his computer. “Gear up. They found something.”

“Now we’re talking.” Phil stood up and hoisted his duffle bag onto the foot of his bed. “Show time.”

A small army consisting of FBI, ATF, Utah Highway Patrol, and local Heber sheriff’s officers stood in a meeting place in a parking lot a quarter mile from their target location.

Roman’s group of officers was also SWAT trained and part of the Violent Criminal

Enterprise apprehension team. They dealt with the worst offenders, explosive devices, and heavy weapons violations.

His lead ATF agent and the lead FBI agent were running the operation. Roman’s heart was already pounding with adrenaline; his helmet under his arm, his AK hanging from his shoulder, armored up like a marine about to fight Afghan terrorists. Roman loved this part of his job best. Intel was one thing, but front line battle? Nothing better.

They had already studied the map and the floor plan of the building they were entering, had a rough idea of the types of weapons, including ingredients used to manufacture bombs, and each unit was assigned an entry point or post.

“Any questions?” Nick asked the men.

No one said a thing.

“Let’s go!”

Roman put his helmet on and climbed into the back of an

armored personnel carrier. As the truck moved, no one spoke, each mentally preparing for the danger ahead. Though all of the men had been tactically trained with basically the same guidelines, working with local sheriff’s departments, or Highway Patrol, wasn’t easy. The FBI units did well with theirs. It was all the same strategy. But the smaller departments needed to step back and let the big boys take over.

He felt the vehicle halt, and they immediately exited the back of the truck. In the darkness, Roman and his men followed the lead agents who used hand signals.

His face shield down, his AK in his hands, Roman and his crew began to surround a huge warehouse building which looked from the outside as abandoned and dilapidated.

His group of six men made their way quietly to a steel back door. Nick held up his hand and they stopped moving as a unit.

All Roman could hear besides his own pounding heart and heavy breathing was the excited respiration of the men behind him. He knew the adrenaline dump pre-entry, and the high level of testosterone that was flowing in each man’s veins. He could smell it.

“Police! Search warrant!” was yelled from the front. A loud smash of the battering ram hitting the door was next.

Nick made a signal. The biggest man in their unit rammed the back door with a metal battering ram. It only took him one powerful hit to punch it open.

They flooded the building and raised their flashlights up with their AK rifles and fanned out. All the while Roman could hear the agents identifying themselves in loud voices, “FBI! Search warrant!” “ATF agents! Come out with your hands up!” as they went room to room.

From the back door, his group encountered nothing. No fleeing hoards of crooks or shots fired.

Not a sound of commotion, but it was a very large building, and they needed to go floor by floor.

The front entry team and rear unit met up. “Nothing yet. Go check each room,” Nick said. “My men, take the second and third floor. Feds, go up to the top and work down.”

Roman and the rest of the team began their ascent up an exposed stairway that was more like a fire escape ladder than an interior staircase in a factory building. It shook with the combined weight of big, muscular men and heavy SWAT gear.

Roman and Phil peeled off from the group to search their area. They signaled the rest to move on. He and Phil had done the routine so often they knew each other’s movements before they met gazes or exchanged signals.

One by one, Roman and Phil cleared the massive maze of rooms. The only thing inside each graffiti-tagged space was garbage, broken office furniture, newspapers, used condoms, hypodermic needles, and dead rats. And it stunk of urine and age. The plasterboard walls peeled from moisture, and the floor was rotted.

Not a sign of current inhabitation or any clandestine activity met Roman’s eyes. But they had a long way to go before they were done.

They approached the end of the hall; an open door was at each side. Roman gave a sign to Phil he’d take the left, and Phil should move right.

Roman held his rifle upright and entered the room, pointing his flashlight around the perimeter.

A strong smell hit him. But it didn’t seem toxic, more herbal. But it overpowered him with its potency, not to mention the surprise of smelling anything other than decay, mold, piss, and dust.

On the walls were different symbols. These were not gang signs or swear words like in all the other rooms. A red inverted pentagram was mostly whitewashed over and other signs were covering it, as if to negate its terrible message. Roman was about to shout, “Clear!” to Phil when, in the pitch blackness, he caught something shadowy moving out of the corner of his eye. He spun around and pointed his AK and flashlight. Nothing was there.

“Clear, Roman.” Phil poked his head into the room, telling Roman he had found nothing in his own search.

“Okay.” Roman lowered the gun and was about to join Phil to regroup and see if anyone had found anything, but something held him back.

A heavy red mist blinded him temporarily, blocking his path to the hall. Roman waved his gloved hand in front of himself to try and see through it. It made him cough and his flashlight didn’t seem to permeate it.

Dizziness hit him next. He reached out to the wall, trying to prevent falling. “Phil.” He coughed harder, unable to shout loudly because this toxic air was in his throat.
Once Phil realizes I’m not
behind him, he’ll come back. No one is left behind on any mission. Ever.

The darkness seemed to deepen and his flashlight fell from his gloved hand, shutting off as it hit the floor. Roman dropped to his padded knees, feeling sicker by the minute, wondering what he had stumbled into. He hoped no one else was suffering the same fate. A terrible fear that they’d been set up, and this was a trap to kill them, rushed over Roman.

“Roman?” Phil called out.

He tried to answer, “In here”, but choked and coughed on his words. He fell to his back, the gun still clutched in his hand, but it felt as if someone were tugging at it to get it away from him.

In the blackest of shadows, a female form, but not a normal woman, was standing over him. Her face was painted bright red with white and blue markings under her eyes. A crest of black feathers topped the upper half of a wolf’s skull, with its fur skin draped on her head. She held something in each hand and Roman heard chanting.

Bile rose in his throat. He turned his head to the side in case he threw up.

“Roman!”

Phil’s voice seemed frantic. Roman couldn’t figure out what was taking him so long. Surely Phil was only down the hall and knew where he had last seen him.

A black bird was hanging over his chest. The woman had it dangling by its feet in her hands.

She cut its neck and blood spattered Roman’s face shield and body armor. The chanting was making his ears ring.

“Roman, you fucker! Where the hell are you?”

Roman used all his willpower to move, to yell, to shake this haze, but all he could do was lay prone while something wicked began to possess him.

“I can’t find Roman!” Phil’s voice was panic stricken. “He was just in this room! Roman!

Where the hell are you?”

Roman was beyond confused. An army of men were looking for him, but he was still in the same place. Wasn’t he?

He rocked side to side on his back, like a tortoise that can’t right itself. His gun dropped from his hand and he heard it clatter with a loud echo. The red painted woman knelt between Roman’s bent knees. When he felt pressure against his groin area, he tried to jerk away.
Phil!
he was shouting in his brain and had no idea if sound was coming out.

“He must have moved down the hall to the stairs. Spread out. No one leaves without him.”

Hearing a language he did not understand, being assaulted by a phantom woman who scared the hell out of him, not to mention his own helplessness, was beginning to make Roman crazy. In his head he shouted,
Leave me alone!,
rocking his body side to side to try and avoid the contact she was making with his genitals.

He felt naked. Icy cold. How that could be possible with the amount of heavy armor and clothing he was wearing was beyond him. Against his will she was rolling his testicles in her palm, fingering his limp length.

I’m dreaming. I have to be. What the fuck is going on?

He made the effort of looking down at his own body in the pitch darkness, touching himself. All his ATF clothing and weaponry were gone. Suddenly he had the illusion he was lying on the ground under a canopy of tall trees and firelight surrounded him. In the flickering flames, shadows passed. The chanting grew deeper, vibrating his ribcage, but stronger, as if fifty humans were surrounding him, all saying the same thing. As the silhouettes danced, they either touched him where he did not want to be touched, spattered animal blood on him from slit necks of birds, or coated him in dripping blood from what looked to be beating hearts.

He no longer heard the men’s voices he worked with, nor their heavy tread on the stairs or hall.

Forcing his eyes to open, he saw a full moon in a black sky.

Why me? Why me?
Roman tried to keep his head, but it wasn’t easy.
Am I high on toxic fumes?

What did I walk into?

As his entire body was painted blood-red by dozens of hands, Roman closed his eyes and imagined his sacrifice would be next. He just couldn’t understand how he had gone from an armed group of men in a vacant building, to naked and helpless as a newborn under the black velvet sky. He imagined he never would figure it out, because he’d be dead by morning. ~

Roman awoke.

The scent of pine was extreme in his nose. He rubbed his eyes and was scratched by a claw on the end of his limb. He blinked. His arm was an animal’s arm with a large paw. Roman tried to stand but ended up on all fours. He sat and attempted to see what he was. The terror of the sight of a black furry tail and huge paws instead of feet made him shriek. But he howled and made squeaking noises when he tried to talk. He spun around in a circle, trying to break free of himself, of the sensations. But all he did was get dizzy. He stopped moving and panted, feeling a long tongue and sharp canines.

This has to be a dream. I’m in the hotel. Aren’t I? And Phil is in the next bed?

Roman raced through the woods, looking for something familiar. The smells were

overwhelming him. Animal urine, pungent musky scents of deer or elk. And each tree gave off a unique aroma that was driving him insane. It was overwhelming him. His ears were picking up sounds from every direction. He halted again, looking down at his own paws.
What the fuck? Am
I a dog? What did they do to me?

He smelled water; the aroma of algae or wet plants. He followed it to an enormous reservoir.

Walking gingerly into the shallows, Roman tried to see his reflection. In the blurry moving lake all he could make out was a long snout and big furry ears. He screamed and a yelp came out as he jolted backwards.
No. No way.

Suddenly pain seized him. He fell over instantly and began shaking. The agony was so intense, he was certain he would pass out from it. He extended his arms and legs, seeing stiff furry paws with black hair and nails. He moaned and rolled side to side on his back, wishing he could cry, but he never was able to.

As he watched, his own hands began to appear, human hands.
Thank God! It’s just a stupid
dream! Wake up, Roman, wake up!

He rested on his elbows, seeing that his chest and thighs, and thankfully, his dick were all in one piece. He was filthy and appeared to be coated in dried blood or something that had once been sticky and was now caked on. Unsteadily he got to his feet and returned to the water. He dove in and scrubbed at the dirt and reddish marks, washing them off, shivering in the icy water but feeling more himself and refreshed. He rinsed the water through his hair and then climbed out of the lake, beginning to get cold. He rubbed his arms to warm them, and started looking for help.