Jericho

Chapter Three

The doors slid open as they whir to life at my approach, the breeze from outside wafted across my face, carrying with it a stench I had never seemed to get used to even after all these years, the smell of the city. Exhaust from the stampede of vehicles permeated the air as they paraded through the streets at all hours of the day; the sea of people and their various odors, from the everyday nine-to-fiver, with the sweet fragrances of cologne and perfumes emanating off of them to the unsavory smells of unwashed vagrants, as well as the seedy dregs of society. By themselves, they were tolerable, but combining them created a muddled mess of noxious fumes that barraged my senses.

I flipped my hood up over my cap and took my first steps outside of my condo’s building, headed for the stairs leading down to the dimly lit street. As I reached the bottom of the steps, my hands rested in my hoodie pockets, I looked around and saw the streets were already beginning to bustle with activity. People moved in and out of tall buildings or walked the sidewalks, getting an early start to their day; either making their way to a public transit station or towards some local destination within walking distance. The traffic flowed steadily in either direction, the odd bit of trash being pushed around the road by cars as they sped by. One daring pedestrian ran across the street prematurely, causing oncoming traffic to screech to a halt, horns blared, and a few obscenities being thrown at the man as he half-heartedly raised his arm as if to non-verbally communicate his insincere apologies.

“Where is this guy?” I thought to myself, raising my left hand up to project a screen and glance at the time. It read “5:49 am.” Deactivating the projection, I looked around once more for my pickup. With no sign of him in sight, I took a seat on the steps and waited patiently. As I rubbed my eyes with my left hand to shake off the drowsiness that slowly but surely crept its way through my mind once more. I have never been much of a morning person, to begin with. Combine that with frequent night terrors that leave you just as exhausted as when you first fell asleep, and mornings can be a real b***h.

I returned my hand next to its counterpart inside my hoody pocket, and closed my eyes, resting them for a moment. With my sight gone, the sounds from all around me seemed to be magnified as I focused on them; spinning tires on the asphalt as they whizzed by, heavy footsteps as the occasional passer-by crossed my path, clumsy feet slapping the concrete with little tact. As I focused on the sounds, time seemed to distort and became increasingly hard to keep track of; my eyelids began to feel heavy and impossible to reopen, the once disorderly racket surrounding me became reminiscent of an orchestra, its non-methodical rhythm gently lulling me to sleep.

The blissful embrace of sleep was soon torn from my grasp, however, as a rancid yet familiar smell took root inside my nostrils: the smell of decaying flesh and rotting meat. Reinvigorated by a sudden second wind, my eyes shot open at its arrival, and soon after I felt a malevolent presence following in the stench’s wake. I began to hear the sound of a viscous liquid that slowly rolled down the stairs with a sickening plop as it made its way down each step; followed soon after by the slapping of hands one after the other, something heavy being dragged behind them.

Standing up, I turned to face what I had already known to be waiting to greet me. The blond woman from my dream crawled her way down the stairs to meet me, a guttural growl rumbled from her as she was followed by an endless flood of the devouring ooze that emerged from a pool at the top of the stairs. The woman’s haunting visage was halfway down the stairs when I heard her speak in a raspy voice. “Joshua.” Her voice was a crude amalgamation of her own, and that of the other abominable creatures from my dream.

I stood tall and stared her down as she inched her way towards me. “No fear.” I thought to myself. “It’s all in your head; it can’t hurt you, no fear.” I repeated the mantra in my mind over and over again, trying my best to stand my ground and act as impartial to this thing’s arrival on the outside as possible, but inside my heart raced as it got closer. My hands gently shook as I clutched the handgun in my hoody pocket by the time it had nearly reached me. Suddenly she stopped, her empty sockets stared up at me in a judgmental gaze as she snarled through jagged fangs. An overpowering scent of putrefaction emanated from her as the wave of gelatinous death surrounded her, forcing me to stifle back the bile that tried to retch its way up my esophagus.

“Joshua.” She repeated before the ooze around her came together to form a thick tendril fusing to her back; it lifted her up at eye level with me. She stared directly into my eyes through her empty sockets, as I peered back into the hateful pits, my nerves shaken and my resolve to show no fear started to waiver; “Butchers, boy.” She croaked before her face began to contort, the sound of a loud crack came from her jaw as it broke, forcefully widening far beyond its capacity to do so. Her cheeks ripped and tore, congealed blood spurting from the wound running down her body; her jaw unhinged, easily capable of swallowing me whole.

Her cavernous maw filled with jagged gnashing teeth clear to the back of her throat. As her horrific transformation seemed to complete, she hissed, leaning closer towards me; the heat emanating out of this nightmarish meat grinder of teeth threatened to sear my skin long before a single fang tasted blood. The stinking hole produced a foul odor that I imagined could have only come from a slaughterhouse that had long been abandoned but still full of half-processed meat.

Suddenly, the monstrosity c****d her head back before unleashing an ear-piercing shriek mere inches from my face. The scream consisted of what sounded like a dozen separate agonizing wails that cut straight to my core; their torment and pain buried deep, taking root within my soul. I instinctually covered my ears, a futile effort, as the screams still managed to find their way through to my ear canal. After what feels like a lifetime of enduring this torture, the strain on my eardrums fast approached critical mass and they were dangerously close to rupturing.

Just before my sanity breaks, and I am overwhelmed by agony, a hand grasped my shoulder firmly. As if a switch had been flipped, the anguish abruptly ended, the creature and ooze had vanished back into the abyss that spawned them, and the wails were replaced with the sounds of traffic and the hustle and bustle of the crowd. “You, okay?” I heard a deep graveled voice call out from behind me. Turning around, I saw a heavy-set man dressed in casual attire. He stood about as tall as I am with a shaved, slightly malformed, and lumpy head. A black SUV with tinted windows was parked on the shoulder of the road directly behind him.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts as I stared at him in silence, beads of sweat rolling down my forehead as the jackhammer that pounded in my chest began to slow. I noticed I recognized the man; he had been one of the regulars Amy sent out to pick me up. I shook off the fire ignited by overstimulation that burned its way through my mind and replied. “I’m fine.”

The man eyed me up and down suspiciously. “You sure? You kind of looked like you were spacing out there for a bit.” He said as I started walking towards the SUV’s passenger door, trailing behind me as I passed him.

“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.” I responded in a low voice before opening the passenger side door. I entered the vanilla-scented cab and sat on the pristine leather seat. The interior of the SUV was very neat and tidy, not a speck of trash or filth; just as it had been the many times he had picked me up before in the past.

“Seems like that’s the same story I get every time I pick you up.” He said, getting into the driver's seat and shutting the door, fastening his seat belt with an audible click.” I’m starting to wonder if you are really just up all-night drinking, maybe even entertaining a “friend” huh?” He said with a smirk and making air quotes with his hands as if to emphasize his already painfully obvious accusation.

“No getting anything past you.” I said, scoffing at the thought; my life was complicated enough without having to worry about managing relationships. Even ones of a purely physical nature. Reaching for his coffee from one of the local shops that rested in the center console’s cup holder, he took a big gulp before he set it back down and started the engine.

“Do you need to stop somewhere and grab a cup of Joe before we head out?” He said as he flipped on his turn signal and turned at the first available opportunity.

“I’ll be fine, we can head out.” I replied dismissively, pulling the hood off my head as I stared out the window.

“Well, we got a ways to go. Feel free to try and catch some Z’s if you want.” I chuckled softly to myself, sleep was the last thing I needed right now. Night terrors have been happening more frequently, almost nightly occurrences in fact; not only that, but the ghosts of my past have been seeping into the fabric of my everyday life, haunting me during the day as well. Their tortured souls clung to mine with vengeful purpose.

It didn’t take us too long till we hit the freeway, taking I-10 east. As expected, the traffic at that time of the day was atrocious. The driver aggressively attempted to push his way across the lanes filled with equally aggressive drivers towards the carpool lane, occasionally laying on his horn in response to other drivers that honked at him, muttering something unintelligible under his breath as he did.

After a few painstaking minutes as he made his way through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, we finally managed to make it into the carpool lane and started cruising at a steady pace. “About d**n time, god-d***ed savages.” The man said angrily as he reached his hand into a compartment at the bottom of his middle console and pulled out a half-empty pack of cigarettes, the sound of the loosely packed sticks rattled around inside the small box.

Opening the pack up, he lifted it to his mouth and grabbed one of the cigarettes between his lips before offering the box to me, not taking his eyes off the road. I stared at it hesitantly. I had never been a big smoker, but given the degeneration of my mental health lately, I had been desperate for something to take the edge off. “Thanks.” I said as I reached to pull one of the cigarettes out of the pack. Still a little riled up from the hallucination I had experienced earlier; the temptation for any kind of relief was too enticing to be denied.

“You got it bud.” He said, putting the pack back in the compartment before he fished a lighter from his shirt pocket, he offered it to me first. I lit the cigarette before rolling down the window, handing the lighter back to him as I inhaled the vile-tasting tobacco into my lungs, eagerly awaiting the small measure of relief it would bring. He lights the cigarette hanging from his mouth before returning the lighter to his pocket and rolling down the window.

There were a few moments of silence between us as we took gradual puffs from our cigarettes, a gentle breeze flowed into the cab from the open windows and caused the smoke to dance around as we exhaled. “So did you hear the news?” he asked, flicking ash out the window.

“I guess that really depends on what news you’re referring to.” I responded, taking another long inhale. And as if he were a mirror image, he did the same, exhaling before he spoke.

“They’re saying that terrorist group, whatcha call em, attacked another recovery team the other day.” Flicking what little remained of the cigarette out the window, he rolled it back up. I hadn’t heard about that, but the news piqued my interest.

“You mean, The Lunary.” I said, sucking the last little bit of my cigarette; The heat from the cherry burned my lips and fingers, indicating it was spent, and tossed it out the window.

“Is that what the big wigs are calling them? Jesus, what a stupid name. Anyway, it was a damned mess. More than half the recovery team were slaughtered from what I heard.” He said as he reached for his coffee and slurped the still steaming beverage. I wasn’t at all surprised to hear that. Though I haven’t personally had any encounters with them myself, The Lunary are well known to most field personnel at Anubis. A small army of anomalous soldiers classified as werewolves and labeled terrorists by the higher-ups at Jericho, but I wasn’t convinced it was that simple.

For starters, they don’t appear to be typical werewolves, they share most if not all the physical attributes of your run-of-the-mill werewolf, according to all the reports I have read, anyway. They are hulking beasts ranging between seven or eight feet in height on average when they stand on their hind legs; their frame is muscular but even, so they seem capable of feats of extraordinary strength. Combine that with razor-sharp claws,

fangs, a skeletal frame harder than steel, and the ability to regenerate rapidly, and you got one tough son of a b***h on your hands, and the fact that they appear to hunt in packs makes things that much worse.

But-for-all their supernatural physical prowess, at their core werewolves are more or less just that, wolves, territorial animals whose primitive instincts drive them. The Lunary, on the other hand, seemed to be much more. They were organized and calculating. Specializing in guerrilla warfare and sabotage, they live off the grid as you would imagine, making them impossible to track. They bide their time waiting for the perfect moment to ambush or strike their target with precision.

And from what I hear, unlike regular werewolves, they possess the ability to shapeshift into a human form. Though they might be far deadlier in their wolf form, there is no denying the advantages of being able to alternate between the two. It allows them to have access to firearms and other tools they can use to achieve whatever their goal might be at the time. Not to mention the fact that it allows them to blend in; which, depending on the situation, makes it that much harder to see them coming before it is too late.

And lastly, they are labeled terrorists, but their focus seemed to be purely on impeding Jericho and Anubis efforts; rarely, if ever, involving bystanders or third parties in their attacks. To my knowledge, no contact has been made, and there haven’t been any demands from them. Or attempts from our side at figuring out the reason behind the apparent grudge they have with the organization. Let alone any attempts to find some kind of consensus. Seeing as there are reports of what we now call The Lunary as far back as the 1950s when Anubis was first founded, and we have made no real progress in containing or exterminating them in that time. I find it odd that we have not tried a more diplomatic approach considering they were clearly intelligent creatures.

“You know, I heard they captured one.” The man said, breaking my concentration.

“That seems unlikely.” I responded in disbelief at the ridiculous notion, he really shouldn’t cling to the rumors circulating among the other (D-class) personnel.

“No really man!” He exclaimed, slapping my shoulder with the back of his hand. “This guy I know over at site 9 swears he was there when the recovery team returned. They had a couple of your specter buddies there with them, and according to my guy, there was one of those mangy mutt’s locked in a cage, getting it ready to transport to the R.A.C.” He said chortling, obviously satisfied with the prospect. He reached for his pack of cigarettes before offering me another one. I raised my hand, declining the offer.

“If it is true, then it's site 9’s mess to deal with and we should be glad it’s them and not us.” I said coldly as he popped one of the cigarettes into his mouth.

“How do you mean?” He asked with a look of confusion plastered on his face as he reached into his pocket and fished out the lighter to ignite the tobacco.

“How many of The Lunary has Anubis recovered in the past?” I asked, slightly agitated at his obliviousness. He took a moment to think about the question, exhaling a large cloud of smoke before answering.

“None that I heard of.” He said, looking over at me before he continued. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, The Lunary have proven themselves to be competent at gathering accurate information on some of the organization's most well-kept secrets. And they have proven themselves to be experts at sabotage, as well as exceptional fighters and ambush predators. And we have just captured one of them alive for the first time in history. At best, that ‘mangy mutt’ puts a massive target on the backs of anyone holding it. At worst, it wasn’t captured at all; and it simply volunteered for an extensive tour of the facility Anubis uses to contain some of the world’s most dangerous anomalies.” My words seemed to sink into the man’s thick head like an arrow through a loosely packed bale of hay. He fell silent as his eyes widened at the prospect, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he imagined the dozen or so ways in which this could end badly.

“Oh.” He said quietly, and as our vehicle came to a stop due to traffic the whole cab fell silent, except for the sound of the man’s cigarette that burned as he took a deep pull off of it; causing the cherry to steadily roll its way down, followed by a loud exhale. “F**k.” I heard the man mutter under his breath, and as traffic starts to flow again, we ride the remainder of our drive-in relative silence.