The Hard Road
Chapter 16
-/-/-/-/-
He had just shoved three quarters of a goat down his throat when the radios squawked. Two wildlings had broken into an occupied barracks. Oliviera summoned six NCO's, Koszjek, and himself, and they raced off. If he thought they went fast before, their speed now was blinding. Whatever the hell they had dosed him with was working overtime. He was pushing as hard as his body would go, but he somehow kept up. In their haste, they simply vaulted buildings, leapt from roof to roof, and bounded over trucks.
Screaming and chaos echoed from first battalion's barracks even before they got there. The door was open. Draco barely managed to duck yet another suspiciously short door. Something was clearly going on, but nobody else seemed to notice. Koszjek ducked every single door, but that was normal. In kehrseite form, the git was a hair over seven feet, and now, easily a foot taller. Oliviera, Koszjek, and two others twisted sideways through doorways. They raced up stairs, weaving the hallways and around doors towards the commotion.
Two blood slicked recruits laid in a heap. One was kicking and thrashing while fhe second barely twitched. Koszjek grabbed the first one while Draco poured a vial of healing potion into the second. The man's body arched towards the ceiling when the potion hit his stomach. His teeth gritted as he let out an ear piercing scream. Pink flesh wound into the gashes on his face and neck, his eyes flared fiery red, and he launched off the floor. Fangs sprouted out of a silvery snout seconds before the small werewolf tackled Draco. Teeth snapped and claws raked, but Draco kneed and punched, rolling him over and pounding into him with both hands. Bones crunched under his blows until the beast dodged and his fist plowed a chunk out of the tile floor. It snarled at him, but his ribbon of screeching steel tore out of the door frame and wrapped the werewolf tight. It was still snapping when he one-handed his were-suitcase and hauled it back down the stairs. Koszjek followed close on his heels, heaving the broken wreckage of his charge onto the paved sidewalk.
Koszjek spotted the stick before anyone else. First battalion's barracks door was undamaged, but a branch about the size of a cigarette was wedged into the corner of the jamb, allowing it to close but not lock. They all passed it around, eyeing and smelling. Draco noticed the same thing all the rest of them must have. The stick carried a man's scent. It wasn't smashed by a kick or clawed to pieces, rather it smelled like cigarettes. One of the NCO's mirrored their thoughts. "Somebody sneaking a clope?"
Five minutes later, they were breaking six werewolves, four of them newly minted, to basic commands. The group squared off into formation and tore off at full speed. With Rodier calling the cadence, they covered the full length of the base in minutes. Next came more fighting until their new charges followed without any leading. Once settled in, it was time for gorging on as much meat and bone as they could stuff down their throats. He had never felt hunger like this, not even in Azkaban. The thought of tearing into another live animal and then stuffing its raw carcass down his gullet disgusted him, but he simply couldn't stop until the mind-bending hunger pains were quelled, and by then, he had gulped down most of another goat.
The six had long tongues wagging in the breeze when they finished two laps around the base on their way back to their medical building. The radio was still crackling profanity after notifying Rosencrantz of four new unscheduled lycanthropes. She was cursing each and every one of them when she shoved the syringes into his hands and stomped towards the back. He shrugged, checked the lists, and started hammering injections into them while the female nurse monsters snuck glances.
During a break, he caught a strange reflection in the stainless steel table. Merlin's left nut, a beard? He marched into the bathroom, ducking the short door, and gaped. If he wasn't staring at a mirror, he wouldn't have believed it. His face was sheeted with a lush, white beard easily an inch long. Under his tattered shirt lurked a muscular statue sheeted in spectacular chest hair ringlets. His rippling pectorals were bigger than Parkinson's tits while his abs formed a perfect twelve pack. His round shoulders were knotted with thick muscle and arms and legs were huge and ropy. He unzipped to piss and his heart stopped. He was huge! So much for Tracey Davis's sneer and, "Oh, no, Draco, you're adequate. It's not the size, it's what you do with it." Whatever the hell Rosencrantz's potion was, he wanted more of it.
He was fondling his giant member like some sort of goofy schoolboy when screeching wrecked his fantasy. Fuck all, the cranky bint was yelling at him again. The bathroom took on a fiery yellow glow as he swung the door open and stomped out. Rosencrantz was interrogating every single one of the men about nurse Perrault. A quick check told him she must have been the saber toothed tiger thing. Her voice was urgent as she summoned Rodier and himself. Perrault had gone looking for another case of lycanthropy antibiotic an hour ago and had not returned.
Rodier would handle the medical end while Draco was sent off to find the missing nurse. His hopes rested on her skiving off for a nap somewhere but worry gnawed.
He commandeered four minions after their second round of shots. With a shirt for scent, they were on the trail. While werewolves were certainly sharp trackers, Perrault's distinctive feline scent coupled with a grapey laundry detergent left a trail even he could follow. The path wound back through the mess hall, through an empty car that smelled like napping, and then towards the sheep pens. Yips and joyful barking sent them running at full speed.
A woman's mostly nude body dangled from the top of the high fence. A bloody streak down her leg ended in a mat of crimson hair. The top of the chain link was stuck through her ankle. Werewolves were jumping, clawing, and snapping at her badly slashed chest and back. His minions charged forward, but he barked the command to beat back the attackers. His bright blue burst of lightning brushed them back so he could climb the fence.
Her kehrseite form was surprisingly tiny for her massive strength and ferocity in monster form. He was able to hoist her one handed as easily as he would have a rabbit, rip the fence loose, and climb back down.
Perrault's skin was cool and gray where it wasn't criss-crossed by gashes. He felt for a pulse and breathing, and quickly started chest compressions and mouth to mouth. Two minutes of work and he stopped to pour a dozen vials of blood replenisher and wiggenweld down her gullet. Her body jerked, her eyes popped open, and a geyser of blood erupted from a hole in her thigh.
He stuffed two fingers into the wound and held hard. Her clammy hand flopped on his arm and her hazy blue eyes begged. Her words gurgled out, "Kill me. Don't let them rape me."
"You're going to be ok. I've got you."
His resolve was steel. Ministry devil worm and ten-thousand parole conditions be damned. He gripped Perrault tight into his chest, spun hard, and pushed his magic against the blinding pain erupting in his skull.
He held on for with all his might as ribbons of skin peeled off his body. His brain was on fire. Blinding pain tore through him as his bones snapped and pierced his muscles, but he had to hold on until he was in the medical building. A metal table smashed his legs and furry figures scattered like roaches as the shock wave of malfunctioning magic exploded through him. Her body was twitching. A weak pulse throbbed beneath his slick fingers. That was all that mattered. Salty liquid crackled as he exhaled and the world went black.
-/-
Draco's heart wrenched in his chest, tearing his eyes wide open to the silver moonlight kissing his flesh. Thin streams of light sparkled through the high windows.
His breath formed a cloud that hung over his face.
Hunger. Every single scrap of his being throbbed with hunger.
The scent of meat called. He slid sideways and crashed to the floor. More white clouds caught moonbeams when he exhaled, but he didn't feel anything. His hands slipped on metal. Pushing up was a challenge with his leg locked straight like a board.
His fingers fumbled with the enchanted snaps on his belt. Slick vials slid through his hands and tinkled on the floor. Blurry terra cotta floor tiles disguised the quarry rolling farther away every time he touched them.
His frustration mounted as the easter egg hunt mocked him. A yellow glow rippled across the blackness under a shelf, revealing the edges of the bottles. One by one, his fumble fingers and accios slid them back.
Draco rolled over and propped himself up. The same yellow glow illuminated the printed labels. His eyes burned when he scrubbed across them. Their writing was now gray mush under red streaks. The first lid popped off. His face burned from the slosh, but eventually got some past his lips. From the stink, it was the bone regrowth. Not what he needed, but too late now. Bitter liquid coated the inside of his mouth. Blood replenisher. Herbal overtones mixed into rotten fish. Rosencrantz's special Wiggenweld. He poured a dozen haphazard vials down the hatch and hoped for the best.
His stomach gurgled. The chemical stink of industrial disinfectant overwhelmed the scent of stale blood and cold death.
His nose was calling. Something edible lurked on the table above. How had he ended up inside the kitchen? He clawed and caught the edge then heaved it toward himself. Metal ground and the table crashed over, dumping a heap into his lap.
Manna from heaven.
Draco was only vaguely aware of the scent, but he didn't care. Even if he did, he couldn't stop. His body moved mechanically ripping through plastic and cloth. Hunks tore loose and stuffed in. Sweetbreads and organ meat were savory on his palate. Liver soft and full of irony goodness. Bone and marrow rich and luscious.
Nausea welled until a huge burp rumbled out. His body was itching like ten thousand snargles boring into his flesh. The dull ache gave way to sharp pain as cold tremors rippled through his muscles.
His eyes began to focus in the yellow glow. Clothes? Where were the rest of his clothes? Fuck. Where was his skin?
Details crept back. Splinched? Apparating what's her name. Flesh was spiderwebbing into the torn holes, leaving the feeling of being eaten by a giant swarm of bees.
Bees. The thought of honey left his mouth watering. More chunks and bones peeled off the carcass and gulped down his throat. The faster he ate, the faster red muscles and pink skin wove into place.
A metal door clanked and white light seared his eyes. Draco's arm blocked the brilliance flooding over him, but it couldn't block the deafening hum. A woman shrieked and ran. His brain cleared. Another one must have gotten loose and it was trying to steal his food. He wasn't in any shape to run so he readied his magic. Another vial. Something minty. Merlin, he was a wreck with spiral tracks of pink flesh winding all over his body. The whole floor around him was slicked red, and why did his food have skull tattoos all over it? It didn't make any sense.
His leg was a useless log as he hobbled to a shelf full of bins. Jackpot, although why the kitchen had a whole rack full of bags of kids clothes escaped him. Lost and found probably. He charmed teeny pants and a shirt to fit. His flesh burned as he twisted and turned, pulling it over himself. Tiny boots and socks likewise swelled and twisted until they slid over his feet.
The moonlight flicking into his eyes reminded him that they would expect him back soon. He wrestled his way up the wall and through the door. The hum and flash of lights wrecked his sense of direction, so he hobbled down the hallway. He tried to look normal, but was having a hard time with the uncooperative leg. Signs pointed towards radiology, internal medicine, surgery, intensive care, and emergency. He pushed through a set of double doors and was greeted by parking lots full of cars. Where in the heck am I? It looks more like town than on base.
A couple more vials of potion settled the pounding in his ears. The moonlight was so incredibly bright. His whole body was itching like crazy and the hunger hit him like a truck. His nose beckoned him towards a trashcan. His hands plunged through papers and came up with half-eaten sandwiches. His brain was screaming stop but he couldn't turn away from the bounty until the whole thing was empty.
Glass doors slid open across the parking lot and a police officer tromped out. Concern etched his face. His nose raised and wiggled from side to side. Draco quirked an eyebrow. The food kicked in and his brain cleared. If that officer wasn't bludbaden...
He pushed up and slid against a car. The officer marched quickly and pulled up short where he was gripping his thigh. "Come, help me back up. It's my leg. I was hit by an idiot on a Motoguzzi."
"I"ll get a nurse and a wheel chair."
He focused his powers while gripping the man's wrist. "I can't go in there, not like this."
Yellow reflected off the man's face. He eyed Draco up and down and flashed his eyes fiery red. Jackpot!
"You can't woge back?"
The officer's eyes turned towards the full moon gleaming like the sun and then returned to him. "I had a great uncle, wasn't a wild one, mind you, but he always got real agitated. You know, hungry. Stayed up all night on the moon carving the little birds, leaves, and vines on his clocks, drinking sweet, white wine and raving about how the new alloy steels wrecked wood chisels and saws."
Draco simply couldn't resist. Old Neil had filled his ears with the same complaints. "My favorites are the ones from right after world war two, but before the alloy steel made them drag on the stones."
The officer clapped him on the shoulder and snorted out a laugh. "All the same, you lot. Tell me what I had for dinner."
The fellow must have spilled it all over his uniform. He reeked of it. "Pad Thai from Chili and lime." It was Rodier's favorite place to get the stuff in Aubagne, and it had a very specific funk. His own body stank of stale death and another man's clothes. He changed subjects. "The guy who hit me, did he make it?"
The officer quirked an eyebrow. Draco continued, "The fucker ran me over with his motoguzzi, hit the gas and swerved right up under a truck. I didn't see his face, but his skin was darker than mine and he had tattoos all over his arm."
The officer's nose wrinkled. "Those things are only good for is making corpses. His body got torn up pretty bad." He waved Draco his way. "Come on. I know a guy who doesn't ask too many questions."
The elf sized patrol car lumbered down the narrow streets, clunking over cobblestones, bumping curbs, and clacking the mirrors on dozens of Renaults and Peugeots haphazardly parked in front of rows of beige apartments. Draco had the tiny seat as far back as it would go and still nearly had to lay it down so his gimpy leg would fit. Even then, his head scrubbed the smoke stained ceiling. Each bump sent electric jolts shooting from his toe into his skull. Several turns passed and they bounced two wheels onto the curb in front of a narrow brick townhouse. Draco wrestled himself out of the tiny car and ended up face down on the sidewalk.
The officer helped him to his feet and they knocked on the door. An old man groused as the dood clunked against the chain. One look at Draco and the man's nose raised and sniffed.
The door jamb smashed his head on the way in. Stars erupted, blurring his vision, his log of a leg caught and he crashed. He rolled onto his back, nursing his slick forehead while the moon burned circles in his swimming mind.
Both of them were laughing as they hauled him into a chair. The man handed him a rag and donned a pair of reading glasses before probing the gash on his head. The man's hands went from his head to his chest and then peeled the blood stained shirt off his back. He tsked a few times as he poked. "Lucky you inherited a bit 'o the wolf or I'd be stitching you up."
Going on about Rosencrantz and her potions didn't seem appropriate at the moment. The man rummaged around in his freezer and came out with a frozen turkey. He herded them out back to plastic chairs surrounding a small metal table. Steam drifted around the frozen lump as fuzzy frost grew. The other two waited while he wondered what they expected him to do with the huge, icy rock.
His stomach rumbled as the hunger pains stabbed. Before he knew it, he was gnawing chunks out of the frozen bird while the other two men laughed. His head itched like crazy, but he knew better than to scratch at it. Soon, he was searching the table for more. It made no sense, the ten-kilo lump was gone. The old man slapped his leg. "They'll eat absolutely anything on the moon. I bet you scrounged at least one belly full of trash tonight. So, young man, what's wrong with your leg."
"It's stuck. Like a huge log."
The officer chimed in. "Said he got hit by some idiot on a motoguzzi."
The veterinarian shook his head when he tried to bend it. "Come on. We're going to need some X-rays."
Half an hour later, Draco was laying on a stainless steel table. The vet was squinting at a screen, scratching his head. "Your leg's full of metal. You from England? I wouldn't have guessed. Your French is just too good.."
The officer quirked his eyebrow, and the vet continued. "The fucking wizards implant anybody suspected of lycanthropy with these devil worms. Shuts down their brains if they do anything. You're the second one I've seen with one of these that went crazy. The first was a college professor fellow maybe five, ten years ago."
"They put it in five months ago. Condition of my parole."
Red fire burned in the old man's eyes. "Parole! That's rich!" He wagged a calloused finger at the police officer. "Don't ever let the Roast Beefs find out you're Wesen. That's all it takes." He snapped his fingers. "Lupin. That was his name. Rudolph? Rene? No, that's not right, but it was something with an R. Hell of a nice guy. He was a wizard, but he'd give you the shirt right off his back. Helped out any Wesen he could. I told him he was a fool to go back, but he said he had to. Something about keeping kids out of another one of those crazy wizard cult scuffles. Strange lot, they are, British wizards. You're lucky its the first night 'o the moon or you'd be laid up the whole month. Well, lets get on with this."
Exhaustion hit him like a truck as dawn's yellows and oranges rippled over the buildings. The whole world swirled around him and he cursed Rosencrantz's stupid potions for wearing off all at once. He clamped his teeth shut against the pain banging holes in his skull. Bones crackled and muscles cramped and tore. While her potions were sheer genius, the aftermath left him wary of his remaining stock. He could barely move his arms, and now, his leg was on fire. Clarity washed in and out. The doctor's images revealed a tangle of barbed wire sprouted from his bones. Twisting metal hooks riddled his flesh starting above his ankle and ending just below his hip. When questioned about how much potion he would need, the doctor simply smirked. "All of it."
He emptied his pockets and found three hundred twenty-seven francs and ten euros. Shame burned Draco's chest. It wasn't even enough to cover knocking on the man's door, much less the coming surgery.
IV needles jabbed into both arms. Syringes pushed anesthetic into his veins, and the world swirled into black.
