Man Among Wolves: The New Pack Member
In the year 20--, a new disease was discovered deep in the jungles of the Amazon. However, it got loose, forcing mankind to research a cure. They found one, and released the cure into the clouds, and tried to save humanity. The good news: it worked. The bad news: it didn't work well enough. Mankind still lost millions of lives, and those who survived the plague, unfortunately succumbed to the rather nasty side-affect of the cure. It only happened in one out of every ten-thousand cases, but still, over two-thirds of earths remaining population after the Plague succumbed to it. The cure was called X-59, and it proved to be wildly successful in lab cases. However, in REAL life, where the Plague mutates, the cure still proved ineffective. Those who survived the plague swiftly found a new horror. The cure turned them into wolves. Some of the affected reverted into a primal state, while others merely became light-intolerant. Only one out of every one million survived without transforming.
Smith Hesston is one such man.
This is his story.
Smith Hesston looked out the window. Below him, a large group of monsters, affectionately called "Werewolves", milled around. He gripped his rifle tightly, and prayed they wouldn't see him.
Unfortunately, one did.
The Werewolf yipped and pointed up to the window, and a small group charged into the building.
Smith swore, and ducked into a small closet, and prayed that the Werewolves wouldn't find him. However, the pounding on the door told him that they had.
As the door broke open, Smith lunged out, screaming like a banshee, and opened up on the Werewolves, killing one, and wounding two others. He then dashed into a bedroom, slammed the door shut, locked it, barricaded it, and sat on a bed, and hoped that is little hiding place would not be breached.
Gradually, another sound was heard, more snarls, and Smith groaned, more Werewolves. He loaded a fresh clip into his rifle, and waited for the moment when the perimeter would be breached.
Eventually, the noised outside ceased, and Smith looked out the window. The group of Werewolves was running away, and it seemed that another group was chasing them off.
"Must be a tribal warfare thing," he muttered, wiping his smudged glasses, "Or something else."
He then lay down on the bed, and tried to sleep a bit.
Morning came, and Smith exited his safe house. He looked at the dead corpse; it was a rather sad thing.
The corpse was like a Werewolf of old, complete with tattered pants, increased muscle mass, fur, snout and claws. He sighed, had the poor creature any mother, father, sister, brother, a loved one, a friend, or someone to mourn its death? Or was it alone in the city of --, like Smith?
Smith Hesston could only say one thing for himself, and that was that he was lucky. He was no scientist or soldier, no genius; in fact, he struggled often just to use a computer. He was in his mid-fifties, had graying hair, horn-rimmed glasses, a Groucho Marx style mustache, and was on the portly side. He had heard rumors of some humans going underground to form a cure, but he didn't care, and was more concerned with finding food and the like. He only had a sock puppet named Mr. Tooty to talk to, and he had hidden caches of weapons and ammunition around the cities.
He sighed, and went out to find his food, taking only a rifle and a pistol with him.
He walked through the large, central park, whistling to keep the eerie silence from getting to him. He said hello to a statue of Theodore Roosevelt, and wondered just how sane his now.
"I haven't anyone to talk to," he said to Mr. Tooty, "At least, no one who will talk back."
"You have me." said Mr. Tooty.
"Don't remind me." said Smith.
Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps, and turned around to see the shadow of a Werewolf dart by.
"Must have followed me." He muttered.
He got out his rifle, took aim, and fired.
The Werewolf ducked, and then fired off a round from a shotgun.
They could use guns!
Smith ran madly for a diner, and leapt behind the counter, and search franticly for the Sub-machine gun he had hidden there.
He found it, and then opened up on the Werewolf.
The Werewolf fired off another round, and then ran into a building.
Smith walked out, and was astonished to see another Werewolf's' corpse. It was riddled with shotgun holes, and hem swiftly realized that maybe HE wasn't the target of the Werewolves shots.
"Why are they attacking Werewolves that attack me?" he asked Mr. Tooty.
"Search me." was the squeaky reply.
Irena Hayes smiled to herself, Smith was fine. She ran through the darkened alleys and across old rooftops, until she reached her Pack's base.
She set the "Borrowed" shotgun down on a table, and walked over to the Meeting Room.
Cormac, her brother, and Radio, a washed-up Radio DJ, were there to meet her. The rest of the Pack was sleeping, eating, or searching for wayward Primals.
Irena was a rather beautiful Werewolfess, with chestnut-brown fur, a shapely, if a bit large, figure, and was one of the few in her Pack that could venture out into sunlight. She also managed to keep her ability to talk to humans, something that everyone else in her Pack had lost. Also, she had a secret crush on Smith, and often wished that she was a human, or that he was a Werewolf.
The difference between Male and Female Werewolves was that Male Werewolves were a bit bigger, and wore only tattered pants, while females were smaller, had longer fur on their heads that served as hair, and wore a tattered shirt to go with the pants.
"So sis," said her brother as he finished talking to Radio, "How's Smith?"
"He's fine," she smiled, "Your little counter-raid last night managed to preserve him for another day. However, I'm worried that a day might come when the Primals will get him. We don't live forever, you know."
"Yes," said Radio, who was without a doubt the brains of the Pack, "But we can still breed, while the Primals can't. THEY rely on more of us reverting to a Primal state."
Radio, bespectacled now as a Werewolf as he was before the Plague as a Human, was rather short by comparison to Irena's' giant of a brother, and was undoubtedly the brains of the Pack, and would often come up with stratagems, inventions, and news of how everyone else in the world was faring. He owned the ONLY working Radio in the city, and often was glued to it, thus earning his name. He had grayish-brown fur, and wore a tattered baseball cap.
Irena's brother, Cormac, was a giant. He stood taller than Mayor, the Alpha Wolf, and was without a doubt the logical choice for enforcer of law. He was an ex-Green Beret, and carried a large pistol, knife and grenade on his belt. He was covered in black fur, and had cared for Irena after their parents were killed by Primals about a year ago.
Mayor walked in, and nodded hello to the three. "Is the man safe?" he asked in his naturally booming voice.
"He's okay," said Irena, "At least for now. I saw him heading back to Richardson Street."
"Good, he maybe the only Human left in this city, but that doesn't mean we should despise him. At least HE doesn't perform nasty experiments on us like the Undergrounds."
Mayor, as his name implied, was the leader of the Pack. He was also the Mayor of the city before the Plague, and still considered himself to be a leader, despite the fact he was now a Werewolf. He had a booming Baritone voice, and had black fur under his nose that resembled a Clark Gable style mustache. He was only slightly smaller than Cormac, and ruled by wisdom, and so far, only the whiney, flesh-craving Primals had complained. He was covered in grey fur, and wore tattered grey pants. His wife, sadly, had died in a helicopter crash as the Plague hit, and he mourned her.
"I wish those Undergrounds would leave us alone," muttered Radio, "Butcher came back, and he now wheezes and coughs, the D-- Undergrounds got him, and tried to 'Cure' him."
The Undergrounds were Human Scientists, who were almost satanically focused on "Curing" the Werewolves. However, they performed gruesome genetic experiments, and would kidnap Werewolves in the dead of night. They were Bogeymen, nightmares that were real. Mothers would often tell their pups "Be good, or else the Undergrounds will come and take you away." However, these ghost stories were true, and any and all Werewolves feared the day when the Undergrounds would come, dressed in their white Hazmat suits and breathing through their big, heavy masks, and take their black-gloved hands, and take them away to their dark, vile, Hell-like labs, and torture them with probes, medicines, hokey-cowboy music, and sharp needles.
"The good news is that the Gated will take him in, and see if they can undo the damage." said Cormac.
The Gated were also Scientists, but instead of living underground, lived in gated communities, and were actually gentler on the Werewolves, taking only the Primals, and attempting to cure the damage done on Normal Werewolves done by Undergrounds. The Gated dressed in White lab-coats, and often spoke with Japanese, Germanic, or Bostonian accents, and often lived with their families. They also managed a trade deal with Normal Werewolves, and thus it looked like Civilization might rebuild itself.
Normal Werewolves were the most common type of Werewolf, and still possessed their Humanity, and often were either active at night, or lurking around in the day, but only doing normal, everyday things such as farming, hunting, or playing games with sticks and balls. They also had a more cushy relationship with Humans, and already in some cities across the world, they had formed nations.
Primals, however, were savage, brutish beasts, light-intolerant, and had a constant thirst for flesh. They would often resort to cannibalism, and often lived in Anarchy. They were huge, monstrous brutes, and possessed no reasoning skills, and sometimes wore no clothes.
Suddenly, the radio buzzed to life, and Radio ran over and began to talk to it.
"Okay, got it, really? Not again. Okay, bye!"
Radio hung up, and turned to face the group.
"Bad news?" asked Mayor.
"You bet, the Plagues makin' a comeback, and it looks like it'll hit us hard."
"Well," said Cormac, "I think we've got SOME immunity, so we'll be fine, right?"
"Yeah, but we'll probably lose around a tenth of our number, mostly it's the Primals that get the lumps. And the Humans." He added sadly.
"What about Smith? Asked Irena, "Or the Gated or the Undergrounds? How will they do?"
"The Gated will lose some of their number, but not much to be of concern, and the Undergrounds, unfortunately, will survive, but at least they'll be in bad shape. But, Smith, he'll be lucky if he survives."
"No!"
"I'm afraid it's true. The Plague has mutated, and now what little natural immunity he has will be rendered moot. The Gated will survive because they interact with us constantly, and might have picked up some of our immunity, and the Undergrounds, since they live underground, will have to be IDIOTS to get sick. We already had the Plague, and the cure has helped us, but it's still gonna hurt. I predict that most of us will be lying in bed, sick."
"Can Smith be saved?"
"Yeah, if he joins us, he'll be sick, but he'll survive. I'll get Sawbones to ready a vaccine from our blood, while you try to figure out how to get Smith to join us."
"I'll try," said Irena, "He's too good to die."
Suddenly, the radio buzzed to life again, and Radio returned to his station, talked a bit, and then gasped.
"What is it?" asked Cormac.
"Undergrounds, the Undergrounds are comin' for Smith."
Smith was resting in a motel when a loud motor was heard. He was sleeping on the bottom floor, and had locked all the doors in.
"What the H--?" he asked.
The wall exploded into rubble, as a large, armored van smashed through. It was painted all white, with blaring sirens, gun-ports, and a turret. A door opened on the side, and two large figures emerged. They were dressed in white Hazmat suits, black gloves and boots, and wore heavy masks, and carried futuristic-looking dart guns with laser sights.
"Come with us." said the leader in a flat, unemotional voice.
"Why?"
"The Plague is returning, and we are going to take you to a safe house. Please, get in."
"Must I?"
"Yes. You are a survivor, and you live among beasts. This cannot be allowed. Humans and Beasts cannot live together. There are boundaries that must be set. All Humans must live underground until a cure can be developed. Get in."
"What if I don't want to go?"
"You have no choice; you must get into the APC. Hurry, the day's almost over, and soon the Beasts will be out and in force. Move it."
"No."
"I said get in."
"I said no."
"Don't make us resort to wasting our Tranquilizer darts on you; we've only got a limited quantity."
"Then why waste them on me? I'm not coming."
"I said you have no choice!"
"I don't care."
"Men, stun and move!"
The Hazmats took aim with their guns, and fired a volley of darts at Smith, who ran off.
"Get him!"
The group of Hazmats ran after Smith, firing off their darts wildly, some almost hitting Smith. However, he was soon cornered, and dragged protesting into the APC, which then drove out of the building, and through the city.
"Lemme go!" yelled Smith, "I'm not coming with you White-suited B--! Lemme out!" he kicked angrily.
"Sir," said the Leader, "You must not be angry at us, we are saving you form the Beasts, they would kill you first."
"How do you know?"
"They are Beasts. It is in their nature."
Cormac watched in horror as the APC drove through the city, fast heading to the outskirts, where it would be in Primals Territory, and out of reach.
"Snipe," he barked, "Gimmie a Stinger."
Snipe handed Cormac the rocket, and he took aim at the truck.
"Steady," he said under his breath, "Steady. NOW!"
He fired off the rocket, and watched as it smashed into the side of the APC.
Smith felt like a giant fist had hit him. The APC swerved wildly, ramming into light-posts, benches, buildings and trees. He felt like throwing up, but was too busy screaming to do so.
"Hold on!" yelled the Leader as he gripped onto a ceiling strap.
The APC hit another car, and flipped over itself, and landed bottoms up on the street.
Smith and the remaining Hazmats emerged in a daze from the APC, but soon, they were surrounded by Werewolves.
"RUN!" yelled the Leader.
Smith ran as fast as he could, but tripped over some debris and fell onto a bench, and knocked himself out.
The battle between the Undergrounds and the Werewolves turned violent. There were only a small number of Undergrounds, but they had far more lethal weapons, and had better training. The Werewolves, on the other hand, had greater numbers, more ammunition, and better skills in the dark. Also, they had a strong, powerful leader to give orders.
"Circle around Smith!" yelled Cormac, "Then grab 'im and run!"
"Don't let the Beasts get him!" yelled the Leader, "Smith must be ours!"
Two Undergrounds and two Werewolves slowly wove their way towards Smith, who was still unconscious.
The Undergrounds reached him first, and were about to take him when Cormac threw a knife at them, slicing one's air hose and grazing another's shoulder.
"I'M BREACHED!" the shoulder-one cried.
"AIR, LOSING AIR!" cried the one with the sliced oxygen hose.
Both fell over, and the two Werewolves grabbed Smith, and ran back to an old Deli, where a Cormac was waiting with a Signal Flare.
"Smiths with us," said one, "Get us outta here!"
"You got it!" said Cormac as he fired off the flare.
There was a loud WOOSH as the flare flew through the night sky, and exploded brightly.
There was a loud vrooming noise, and an old truck drove in-between the battle.
"Get into the truck!" yelled Cormac.
The Werewolves slowly entered the truck, and fired off a few more rounds as they drove off.
The Leader, whose name was Doctor Ryan, looked over the scene of the battle. He had lost three out of ten men, and two others were wounded. One probably wouldn't survive; his air-hose was broken. However, he smiled with grim satisfaction; he had killed five of the Werewolves number, and had now news to bring to his leader.
"Get Dr. Black and help him back to the helicopter," he barked to his men, "We're leaving this place, and returning to our base."
"What about Dr. Sean?"
Ryan looked over at the unmoving Sean, and said firmly "Leave him. He's Beast-Bait."
"YES SIR!"
"The Beasts can drive cars," he muttered under his breath, "And can use guns. What else are they capable of?"
Sean groaned in pain, and removed his mask. He knew that he would be contaminated, but he couldn't breathe in that ridiculous thing anyway, so, why try?
He saw that he was alone, with only the bodies of dead Werewolves to comfort him, the rest of him team had abandoned him, and set the APC aflame, in order to prevent it from falling into the Werewolves hands. They had also taken the dead Scientists, Sean noted with grim demeanor, and had most likely flown back to base. He looked over himself, his white suit was stained with red blood, and his gun lay twisted on the ground next to him, useless. He knew that the Scientists had a thing for destroying any compromised equipment, in order to prevent it from being used against them. He got out of his bulky, clumsy suit, and tried to find his bearings. He knew that his team had abandoned him, since they didn't want to take the risk of bringing a contaminated person into their Underground Shelters.
"Better find someplace safe." He muttered to himself.
He then walked off in the direction of the Werewolves Base.
Smith groaned, how hard was his fall? "Oh my head," he groaned, "I feel like I got hit with a sledgehammer."
"It's probably the vaccine." said a voice.
Smith turned around, and saw that he was in a hospital bed, in a well lit room overlooking the city.
"Where am I?"
"You're at the Thatcher Street Hospital," said the voice, "We're going to give you a vaccine, so that you can survive the Plague."
"Who are you?"
Irena walked out into the light, and Smith gasped.
"You're a…"
"Werewolf? Yes, but don't worry, you only have to fear Primals, or Werewolves who have become monsters. We're sorry for any undue terror we caused you, but sometimes, it's better to keep up an illusion of hostility. Keeps the Undergrounds away."
"You mean those guys in the Hazmat suits?"
"Of course. However, we do have SOME scientist friends. The Gated, for instance, our one of our stronger Allies, and in Africa, the Miners, that is, Humans who were underground when the Plague hit, have provided major support against the Undergrounds there."
"What category do I fall under?"
"The Legends. You have survived the First Plague, and have almost been kidnapped by the Undergrounds. That alone makes you a famous person."
"I am Legend," said Smith slowly, "Sounds like a title for a book, and the basis for the plots of three movies."
Irena chuckled, and then put a bottle on Smiths' bedside table.
"Its water, you'll need it. Sawbones says that the main side-affect of the vaccine, other than transforming into one of us, is dehydration."
"So," said Smith calmly, even though he was startled, "I'm joining your ranks?"
"Yes," said Irena sadly, "That's the only thing with the Vaccine. The Gated, though incredibly brilliant, have yet to discover a 'Cure' for the change in form. Don't worry, the changes happen slowly, and over time, so you won't feel a thing." She got up to leave.
"Thanks, um…"
"Irena," said Irena, "My name is Irena Hayes. You're in the -- Pack."
Smith sighed; at least now, he would never be alone again. And if being Human meant that those guys in Hazmat Suits would come after him, well, he'd dance with wolves.
The End