PROLOGUE

My life’s story doesn’t really begin until the day I became a monster. I was a nineteen year old kid, off to war in a foreign land. I went a boy full of righteous fury. I returned a broken man, with a monster living inside. I’m not being metaphorical. I don’t mean I did terrible things, though I did. Nor do I mean to say that the savagery of war brought out the worst in me, though it did. I mean to say, I was cursed. I change with the moon’s rising.

That day, started like many others. Wake up, eat, go on a patrol, and then back to base for a little downtime. My down time mostly consisted of checking my gear, making sure it was set for the next days patrols, and trying to stay cool. Which is exactly as difficult as it sounds in the desert.

“Earth to Blaez,” Said Roy McHenry, as I ran a snake through the barrel of my M16.

I blinked at the big man.”Sorry I spaced there.”

“I was beginning to worry,” He said, clapping me on the back. “You’ve cleaned that barrel at least a dozen times.”

I nodded, my hands going through the motions of reassembling the rifle without conscience thought on my part.

“Has he been to see you?” McHenry asked.

“Who?” I asked.

“Guess not,” He commented, “Rollins. He’s been by to talk to a few of us.”

That was Sergeant Rollins. A pale man, at least when we were stateside, here he was constantly red. His skin burning no matter how much sunscreen he put on.

What’s he want with us?” I groaned. In the field, the Sergeant was your best friend. At camp, well it was better not to attract his attention.

“He’s got an opportunity for us. It’s all very hush hush.”

I frowned. “Opportunity?”

“Yeah, He-” Mchenry started, but was cut off as Sergeant Rollins entered.

“Killian.” He barked at me.

“Speak of the devil,” McHenry murmured, as I got up to snap a salute at the Sergeant.

He returned the salute and said “Walk with me.”

I did as he ordered.

We walked a bit until we reached the outskirts of the camp. Out of earshot.“What would you say if I was to present you with an opportunity.” He said.

Alarm bells started ringing in my head. This is the sort of corruption they warn you about.

My reaction must have showed on my face because Rollins was quick to clarify, “This isn’t what you think. We leave, run a little private security, we get paid, nobody gets hurt.”

I agreed. My life hinged on this one choice. Though I didn’t know it then. I don’t want to defend my choice, but if you are to understand it, I think I should explain. One part was that I thought it was about poppies. Everything always seemed to be about poppies here. And I could live with that. I knew it was wrong, but drugs come into the U.S. all the time, and no one makes anyone use them. People do it because they want to, and they would with or without my assistance.

The other was, I had been in Afghanistan for nine months. The attacks on the World Trade Center were already becoming a distant memory, and well, war is hell. And NCO pay, my pay, sucked. I had a little over two years left in the army, and no idea how much of that two years would be in this God forsaken country. I was overworked, and underappreciated. And I was greedy. So I agreed.

“Keep it quiet.”

It was a few days later. My downtime was interrupted by Rollins coming in and collecting McHenry, and I, along with a few others.

We grabbed our gear, but only had our BDU pants and t-shirts, no name tags, no flags. With our arms, not to mention the haircuts, and skin color no one could mistake us for anything but what we were, but no one could officially link us to old Uncle Sam.

Rollins had arranged for a couple of humvees to pick us up. I don’t know if Rollins made bribes, or someone higher up was involved, but no one challenged us as we rode out. I didn’t ask Rollins any questions. That's the way they train us grunts. Don’t ask, just do what you're told. I sure wish I had asked more questions now though. I’d like to know just who it was that let this all happen. Considering that it turned into a real FUBAR situation, I want to know who I should blame. Besides myself of course. If I knew that, I would have gladly faced a firing squad to make sure whoever was behind this went down with me.

There were ten of us in all. I was sitting between Norrington, and Ashby. They were both large men, and I didn’t know them well. But we had to be awfully friendly to one another crammed in the back. Rollins was up front with McHenry.  We rolled across the barren landscape for a couple of hours before the sun set. A short while later we found an old dirt track that barely qualified to be called a road.fifteen minutes later, we arrived at a broken down old farm.

the main building had fallen in, years ago from the look of it. There was a metal barn that was still standing, the doors were shut. We pulled up our humvees and set up a loose perimeter. The whole area stank of the animals that had once called it home.

The moons and stars cast a pale light over everything. The barn was old and rusty. It had big sliding doors, but no windows. there were odd bits of farming equipment scattered around, casting odd shadows in the darkness.

I had long since gotten used to the way night feels in  hostile territory. I was sharp, but not jittery. None of the shadows looked liked they would provide good cover. Except the old corpse of a tractor.

As usual McHenry and I were linked up, and we kept working the perimeter. We were there for maybe a half hour before a couple more humvees drove up, followed shortly by a third. The third humvee was trailed by a beat up old pickup, with a wood lined bed. They parked in front of the barn.

I switched between watching my little slice of night, and watching the action, as two men got out from each humvee, and opened doors for men in the back. One from each humvee approached each other and stood to talk for a while.

One of the men set up a gas lamp to provide better light. You probably know the kind, most people use them on camping trips. The two didn’t get too close to one another. Their voices reached my ears, but I couldn’t make out any words. They probably weren’t speaking english anyway.

One was native, the other obviously western. Based on his looks I would have guessed eastern European, but it was hard to be sure with the light and distance.

The westerner’s bodyguards were the kind of men who wear suits that are cut just a little too snug. They take pride in letting everyone see just how big and scary they are. In other words, they were dick’s. The other had the look of the Al Qaeda operatives we had been fighting. Local men, in local garb with Ak’s. I did not like turning my back to them. But Rollins had assured us he was watching them, so we could watch for any potential outside interference.

The westerner handed  a suitcase to one of his guards who walked it over to the local. The man with the suitcase turned to his pickup and laid the case flat on the wood bed, and checked the contents of the suitcase. Apparently satisfied he waved to his guards, to open the barn doors. They rattled and screeched their way open.

It was then that I saw what was being bartered for. I expected to see poppies, or maybe refined opium. Instead I saw dozens of girls being lead through the door, like cattle. I say girls, because they were mostly children, the average age was maybe seven or eight. A few teenagers and even a couple women I would have guessed were in their twenties. There were all tied together by a rope on their ankles. The older ones had the kind of strung out look of long time junkies. The younger just looked terrified. I realized then I hadn’t been smelling animal droppings long past, but human, and present.

Slavery.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The oldest of institutions. They say that four people were too many for the planet already, for Cain killed his brother Abel. How many more than that before slavery took hold? I’m ashamed to have ever been a part of it.

I too, was now part of that institution. I felt sick. But I didn’t raise a hand to save those girls. I stood there. M16 rifle in my hands, grenades strapped to my chest, and all the tools you could ever want have to mount a rescue, and I watched. I was a trained fighter, and all my training had more than taught me how to kill. The purpose of which training was to kill the right people. Seems like these were the right people. But I didn’t do a damn thing. Call it cowardice, call it peer pressure, call it greed. Whatever you call it, you’re probably right. It was all these things together.

I tried to justify it. I didn’t know, maybe the westerners were saving these girls, pretending. Maybe this whole opp was legitimate. And maybe politicians tell the truth. Or maybe I could say I was just doing what I was told. But I can’t sugar coat it. I intended to take my cut of the money. Money that was made peddling flesh. That I never got the money is irrelevant.

No one moved save those girls, although some of them may have gotten away in the chaos that was to come.

Before the buyers could secure their new property, I heard a sound. It was the horrible screech of tearing metal. Everyone stopped and turned to the barn. Something literally tore a hole in the barn wall. I never got a good look at it. It moved faster than I could track.

All I saw was a blurry shape hit Rollins, it left a pile of flesh in his place that could no longer be called a man.

Then the guns started. It wasn’t just us, the slavers started too. It wasn’t long before the air was full of flying lead, and the scent of blood and gunpowder was in the air.

It was the sort of chaos we were trained for, and the preceding months had given me plenty of practical experience. I linked up with the others quickly. We worked toward the tractor corpse as a team. I fired blindly behind us a few times

I doubt very much that I hit anything. I couldn’t find anything to aim at. All I saw were the slavers moving about and firing seemingly at random. It wasn’t random though, they were being cut down. Slowly, methodically, one by one.

We got to the tractor, and ducked behind it. I don’t know how long we were there, but my gun got so hot, I could feel the barrels heat through my heavy gloves, and my ammo supply started to run low. I don’t know how many times I saw the blur and fired, or spotted a dark shadow in a corner and pulled the trigger.

Then someone hit the lantern. I didn’t see it. I knew because the light went out, and there was a very loud hiss of escaping gas. Sorry no big fireball like the movies. Need a  spark for that.

I clicked the rail mounted light on my rifle on, it cast a narrow beam of light. It didn't little to help me find our assailant. It was about that time that the last of the slaver’s died, and this thing turned its attention to us. McHenry tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear him. All the gunfire  had left me temporarily deaf.

That’s when we started dying. It never took more than one of us at a time. McHenry was the first. Or the first I saw anyway. I don’t know when he died. The first memory I have of him being dead, was pawing at his slashed corpse looking for his spare magazines

Then someone screamed. I couldn’t tell who, but it was close. And when I turned towards the sound, I saw a vague shadow of man. I fired a three rounds burst and I swear I hit him, but then he was gone. I caught a few more glimpses, but I never seemed to hit him. Even when I was sure I had.

Things get kind of fuzzy after that. All that's left are these images burned in my mind, of bloody lumps of flesh, bone, and blood. I saw them in the muzzle flashes of my fellows. Like the flash of a photograph, But instead of paper, these images burned forever in my mind's eye. It was all very much like that until I was alone. The screams were gone, and so was the gunfire. My rifle was empty, and I had pulled out my sidearm.

I remember hearing a man's voice then. Loud and clear, like it was inside my head. In any case it bypassed my damaged hearing.  He was taunting me, then something hit my head hard, and then I fell. I lay there dazed for a while, the only other thing I remember before blackness took me, is a figure standing over me, and pressing something cold into my chest.

I woke up, with the sun burning down on me. I was a hundred yards from the barn and the remains of tractor we had used for cover.

I searched, but I was the only one alive. The corpses looked like some animal had chewed on them. Some were even missing limbs. Of course I would soon know exactly what animal. A few were almost completely devoured. Strangely, I was whole. Whatever had fed on the corpses had left my body alone, although it appeared to have shredded my clothes.

I did notice one other thing, for the first time in months almost nothing hurt. I was no longer carrying an accumulation of cuts and bruises. I hadn’t felt this good since before I shipped out.

The only wound on my body was a burned spot on my chest, It was nasty, and I couldn’t yet make out the shape. But strangely it didn’t hurt. It was later, when it healed, that I could see  image of man's face in profile. It looked roman to me, but I never investigated it further. I wouldn’t have known where to start.

I threw up until there was nothing left in my stomach. And while I didn’t note it at the time, my stomach had been very full, and I’m not entirely sure what it was I expelled.

If I had known then what was happening I probably wouldn’t have gone back, I would have stayed right there. I probably could have done significantly less damage in the desert.

But I went back to face the music. I didn’t go back for my conscience. I probably would have just run, except for one thing. Duty brought me back. Duty to the men who died, they were my brothers. Their families deserved to know that they were KIA, not MIA, and that they died fighting. I sincerely hoped that was all they would tell the families. They needed to leave out the part where we off base illegally operating outside orders. I went up the chain from Sergeant Rollins to report it.

Lieutenant Murdock. He was a man with a serious face, only a few years my senior. I told him everything. He must have know what Rollins was up too. In hindsight he probably was in on it. But at the time I just thought he was stoic. When I finished he just told me he would take care of it. He furnished me with a report, I signed it without reading it. I assumed I was about to face the music. But the music never started. I have no idea what story he concocted to cover it up. Or how, or even why. But he did cover it up.

I got assigned pretty light duties after that. My squadmates were dead, and I had to be put together with another unit. I kept waiting for the Mp’s to show up, even after I figured out that there was a cover up going on, but they never did. If anything in wartime can be described as uneventful, those last few months I wore the uniform were. There were battles of course, but I was kept further back then I had been before. I saw less combat duty then most of those around me.

Of course we had several people mauled by a wild animal on base over the next few months. It seemed random, almost a month in between attacks. No one connected it with the full moon. Once again hindsight tells me I was that animal. I can only assume that on that very night, the monster I saw was a werewolf, and he made me a monster like him. I don’t know why it was only one or a two men who died on those nights. Maybe the wolf was weak in the early days. Maybe it realized it was in a very contained situation and needed to be careful.

Regardless, my discharge papers came, about a year and a half sooner than they should have. I got shipped back home, and signed some papers, and didn’t really realize what was happening, until they drove me off base. And just like that I was free.

But not really, the wolf’s kill count ratcheted way up when I was lose on the American mainland. I figured it out pretty quick after that what I was. Especially when I started to remember bits and pieces of it. You can’t imagine what it’s like. First you’re waking up in strange places wondering what happened, next time you swear you had the strangest dream. One where you are fuzzier, and eating people with a wolf’s snout. And the blood is hot, and tastes good when you know it shouldn’t. Pretty soon you figure out that it wasn’t a dream at all.

I’ve been trying to contain the wolf ever since.