The origin of the first round is the shoreline. The bullet slices through the frigid night air, bursting into Adlemeyer’s chest, missing his heart by less than an inch. Adlemeyer falls backward, howling, holding fast to a seeping wound. Bill retraces the echo of the bullet to the water’s edge, his mind flirting with thoughts of a concerted attack. Yet his vision fails to pick up any heat signature. He growls, knowing that deception is afoot. With his thoughts swirling, Bill can feel the fury rising; Cold Bill wants out.
Blaster, now on his feet, runs toward the shoreline with blinding speed. He is much swifter than the rest of them, but still, as he leaps into the air, a second round cuts him down. Pus now oozes from a large opening in Blaster’s neck after being violently tossed backward into the sand; a third round plants itself neatly in his forehead. Again, the origin traces back to the shoreline.
It’s coming from the water! Bill warns Nuke.
Nuke growls, looking down at the shoreline. He immediately drops on all fours and leaps through the air forty yards to the north end of the beach. Bill follows suit but heads south instead. A fourth round fires, clipping Nuke’s upper thigh as he descends between a set of waves. The damage is not enough to slow the wendigo’s progress, and Nuke disappears safely into the watery depths. Bill does the same, safely submerging himself into the shadowy waters.
Somehow, the assailants are able to shroud their heat signatures; Bill’s best guess is that military special warfare units now confront them. He conveys his suspicions to Nuke, and they both listen carefully for the additional gunfire. If neither wendigo could see the gunman with their infrared vision, then they would pinpoint his location using other senses. As a fifth round cuts through the air, planting itself just below Adlemeyer’s cheekbone, Bill and Nuke pinpoint the gunman’s firing position.
From each direction, the wendigo cut swiftly through the water, hurling forward until colliding with the armed assailant. Bill seizes the gunman’s chest while Nuke secures the waist. Neither wendigo slows his pace, tearing the gunman in two—each end landing twenty yards down the shoreline.
Four more frogmen rise from the water. Three of the SEALs brandished M4 Carbine assault rifles while the fourth carries a compact handheld grenade launcher in the forward offhand position. All four frogmen wear NVGs and wetsuits. They move backward slowly closing ranks until standing back-to-back in a tight circular formation.
Tossing his upper body out to drift, Bill turns to the shore suddenly sensing movement along the ridge above the cave. A dozen armed men give off warm heat patterns as they entrench themselves to the left and right of a Humvee. Bill projects his thoughts outward to any of his brothers still capable of listening. He warns them that they were about to be flanked.
It is evident that their night activities over the last three months had picked up the unwanted attention of the U.S. Military. The assault is too organized to consider as a random incursion. Bill knew the wolf pack had been under surveillance for some time and more than likely through the assistance of satellite footage, as they would have immediately sniffed out a reconnaissance team.
Floodlights snap to life from all points along the ridge. Mesh netting hauled from the back of a Humvee concedes their intentions; they plan to capture Bill and his brothers alive. Before the last floodlight cascades over the Humvee, disrupting Bill’s sight, he picks up three more heat patterns inside the Hummer as well as a fourth marine above, operating the Browning. He immediately discerns Lieutenant Colonel Lesieur’s voice. He assumes the vehicles operator is his personal assistant, Corporal Munoz.
While Bill is distracted with the threat along the ridge, Nuke resurfaces. After cannibalizing the remains of the SEAL team member and now lost in the throes of insurmountable hunger, he prepares to assault the remaining frogmen. Although at a visual disadvantage, Nuke easily hears them maneuvering through the water. His long slithering tongue whips about quickly, picking up the scent. The familiarity of fear mixed with the salt of sweaty determination wafts along the suction cup like receptors on his tongue, driving Nuke into an uncontrollable frenzy. He leaps from the water to begin his assault.
Acting with precise calculation, one SEAL levels his grenade launcher off with Nukes descending form. The small projectile, sounding like nothing more than the echo off a returned tennis ball exits the wide tube, sailing fifteen yards just above the surface of the water and then explodes upon impact, spreading white phosphorus chemicals over most of Nuke’s face and upper torso; his leathery skin, acting as an accelerant, ignites.
The chemical quickly burns through Nuke’s dermis and deep into his bones. Bill immediately senses Nuke’s pain as he flails like a rock skipping across the surface of a pond, screaming out both telepathically and verbally, clawing wildly at his leathery flesh, attempting to extinguish the chemical flames. This proves to be futile as fanning the flames only spreads the incendiary materials further and deeper, causing Nuke to become incandescent. No longer conscious, he slips under the surface and into darkness.
Bill knows he needs to gain control before the assault team can cause any further harm to him or his brothers. He is not entirely sure if conventional weapons were enough to kill wendigo; Nuke was never clear on the details of their weaknesses. He decides it is best not to stand around waiting to find out and risk capture. Bill could only imagine the lengths of that torturous affair. He slips silently underwater to begin formulating his strategy.
Beneath the surface, swimming in his thoughts, Bill listens to the frogmen’s voices, their urgency, and the inevitable outcome of their schemes. They intend to take the wendigo alive if possible, dead if need be. Regardless, they intend to transport the wendigo to a research facility for further observation. After tonight, Colonel Lesieur expects to become a full-bird Colonel. With three-fourths of the wolf pack suffering from critical, if not fatal, wounds, if he did not act quickly and with deadly precision, Colonel Lesieur just might get that full bird on his shoulder.
Bill swiftly glides around the frogmen, just under the surface, in several taunting circles. The SEAL team opens fire with short controlled bursts, although the wendigo easily evades their gunfire as the angular distress of their rounds under water offsets accuracy. He senses their fear setting in and he wants nothing more than to exploit it, robbing these elite soldiers of their tenacity. Bill circles around once more, although he has already formulated the only logical strategy that might tilt the odds in his favor.
Reemerging from underneath the water, Bill arises between two high waves, rolling up with the tide and appears as no more than a shadowy blur; his sinuous form glides unnoticeably through the night air, spanning the beach beyond the floodlights, and quietly touches down on the Hummer’s hardtop roof behind the soldier staffing the Browning. With one quick swipe, Bill decapitates the young marine with the sheer rigid edge of his bony hand. The marine’s head, still strapped safely inside his helmet, rolls down the windshield and across the hood, disappearing beneath the vehicle’s headlights. His body falls forward in jerking spasms as his finger presses into the .50 cal’s butterfly trigger, sending repeating thumps into the hood of the Humvee and engine block.
Colonel Lesieur and Corporal Munoz waste no time exiting the vehicle. The third marine, an unfamiliar butter bar lieutenant, sits petrified in the backseat; his eyes lock on the slick trail of blood running down the center of the windshield and thinks of the marine’s head that had made the crimson stain. Lesieur swings the back door open and jerks the Lieutenant out of the Hummer, pulling him safely beyond the floodlights, just over the ridge.
Four marines to the south of the wendigo square off and open fire. He evades their gunfire easily and leaps over the barrage of bullets landing behind them. Bill rises into a formidable attack stance with his thin elongated arms extended out to his sides and his sharp curved daggers erratically tensing. Lunging forward with a snarl, Bill unleashes his paralytic howl.
The deafening wail reverberates through the air, immobilizing each of the four marines with immeasurable fear. He wastes no time and quickly impales the closest soldier with the full force of a piercing blow to the midsection. The marine’s eyes bulge in disbelief as talons burst through his body. A second later, the dead marine slides off the wendigo’s arm. Bill makes short work of two of the three remaining marines, crushing one soldier’s head against the next; Kevlar helmets implode with the soft squishy sound of ruptured brains. He releases them to the sands grasp and turns to the remaining soldier.
The SEAL team has already removed their flippers and is now making their way up the beach, taking a prone position on the ridge alongside Colonel Lesieur. After lifting the last marine over his head and effortlessly tearing the soldier into two, Bill glances down with a snarl, noticing red LED lights dancing along his blood-drenched chest. He listens for the click of a rifle trigger and darts behind the Humvee before the first round fires. To his right, another fire team has taken position, trapping Bill behind the vehicle. It now seems that the wendigo is without advantage. He can feel Cold Bill just under his skin as the beast desperately claws and scratches and rises to the surface. Although desperate, Bill maintains steady concentration to keep his beast locked away; Cold Bill’s chaos would only complicate the situation.
Blaster’s eyes begin to burn brightly as Bill’s distress explodes into his stirring mind; he sits up straight from unconsciousness and ejects the slugs from the hole in his neck and forehead. Within moments, his wounds seal shut and Blaster is back on his feet. He scans the immediate area for his brothers and pinpoints Adlemeyer’s gathering presence. Knowing Adlemeyer will soon recover from his wounds and join the fight, Blaster continues to scan for Nuke and Bill.
Along the ridge behind the Humvee, Blaster senses the intensity of Bill’s desperation. As for Nuke, he senses nothing. None of them can. Blaster assumes the worst. He disappears up the ridgeline in a blur, quickly descending on the heat signatures given off by the SEAL team’s assault rifles that continuously belt out in rapid succession.
Blaster wastes no time ripping through the unsuspecting frogmen in a bloody flourish of rage and violence. When he is done, he heaves breathlessly with the neck of a SEAL member still locked within his hungry jaws; nothing remains other than bloody sand, shredded wetsuits, and exposed fractured skeletons. He removes his teeth from the last of them and chokes down the remainder of a large chunk of flesh. All the while, Blaster beats his chest triumphantly amid the gore.
A frightened voices gasps and Blaster acknowledges the whimpering off to his left. Whipping his terrifying head toward Colonel Lesieur’s direction and unleashing his long bluish tongue, Blaster caters to their terror, exposing his needlelike teeth and widening jaws; gore slops down into the sand from his spastic mouth. Colonel Lesieur, now in a panic, acts in a manner unbecoming of an officer. He commands the other two men to fall back holding a firing position with their sidearm as he turns and flees down the beach. Before each man can disobey Lesieur’s direct order, Blaster has already sunk his teeth into Corporal Munoz’s neck—unplugging a chunk of meat. Adlemeyer slips past Blaster, joining his brother, and rips the Lieutenant’s arm loose at the shoulder. As the young officer falls to his knees with the flagrant look of shock on his dying face, he catches a glimpse of Adlemeyer’s searing hate-filled glare; the wendigo wails ferociously and then beheads the marine officer using his own arm.
What was the hold up? Bill applauds his brothers, quickly gaining control of his beast.
What, were you in a time-out or something? Blaster shoots back as quickly. That’s five for me.
I have six by my count. Bill boasts the higher score.
Looks like I have some catching up to do. Adlemeyer races up the ridgeline toward the fire team on Bill’s right.
The last four are mine. Bill playfully argues, now knowing they were within seconds of winning the night.
Not if I can help it. Blaster throws out the challenge and then springs into action.
He is easily swifter and has already begun his assault on two marines before Bill manages to scale around the side of the Hummer. Adlemeyer only dispatches one as Bill tackles the remaining soldier down the sand. Entering into playful competition, the wendigo fight side by side until the four highly trained marines look like nothing more than extras from a television science fiction series; all slated to die in the opening scene on some remote and hostile planet.
Bill lets out a thunderous and defiant howl, signaling their victory. Adlemeyer and Blaster soon join him, preening themselves over the gory mess.
One of them still lives, if you want to add another to your score Adlemeyer. Bill extends his head upward, listening to Colonel Lesieur’s desperate distant footfalls.
I can hear the coward’s heart racing. His whimpering is intoxicating.
Should we continue our hunt then? Blaster leaps from his crouching position, perching himself atop the Browning like a magnificent gargoyle in the moonlight.
There is no time, my children. Malsum quickly reenters their thoughts. Retrieve your brother from the water.
Bill looks down the beach, listening closely to Colonel Lesieur’s desperate panting breath. He wants nothing more than to give chase, knowing they could not afford to leave behind a dangerous witness. More so, Bill wants nothing do with Malsum or his bidding. He is angry with Malsum for abandoning them, and disobeying the wolf god would please him greatly. Adlemeyer and Blaster look to Bill for instruction. Bill gives the south end of the beach one last look and then nods toward the water, directing Adlemeyer and Blaster to retrieve Nuke’s body. He waits until they both disappear under the surf and then engages their so-called father.
I want to have words with you, wolf.
Whether Malsum is actually listening or he finds Bill’s concerns of little significance or threatening, Bill doesn’t know as all remained quiet. In a savage outburst, Bill takes hold of the Humvee along the base of the front fender weld and turns the vehicle violently on its side.
who are you to bark orders after abandoning us for so long! Bill fumes, heaves, and then out of frustration, drives his fist into the Humvee shattering the protective Kevlar shell. He shakes his head and grunts, staring down at the sand, trying to regain control of himself. If we were your children as you have proclaimed then why would you leave when we needed your guidance most? Do you understand or even care that we suffered… that they suffered? Without any insight, you left us alone to fend for ourselves like newborns in the street. So who are you to bark orders now?
All is quiet, except for the presence of a rapping wind, building along the shoreline. Malsum remains unresponsive.
answer me, wolf!
One of my children is decidedly defiant in the presence of his father, yet still, the child is now the big brother who only seeks to protect his siblings.
You should have been here to do the job yourself and not me.
I see you still hold on to your human emotions. They cloud your judgment, Billy Boy… let them go. Such things are no longer of consequence; they will only serve to confuse you.
I would rather have died than become this mockery of life. Because of your treachery, I have to hold on to them. You have caused so much pain, robbed us of so much. I will keep what little I have left, wolf.
If you think so then answer me this, Billy Boy. When confronted with death, why did each of you cower before me? Why did you not choose your mortal death instead of so gratefully choosing what I offered you?
It’s human nature to survive.
When Malsum so wishes to speak, his voice can be like thunder. He humbles Bill now by bringing the enraged wendigo to his knees. do not begin to lecture me on human nature, boy! i was around when you were nothing more than a speck of dust on the empty face of the earth! He then pauses as his previous mind-shattering decree lessons to a sinister mocking snicker. My brother may have molded you from the flesh of our mother, but I was already a god for eons! I have watched for two thousand years at how his precious creations have all turned on him, destroying everything my foolish brother built. Do not make the mistake of thinking you understand what I am!
Had I known what you truly are, I would have gladly chosen death. You would be wise to remember that. Bill boldly confesses, standing back up.
However, you did not… did you, Cold Bill? That is what your brothers like to call you—Cold Bill. Well, Billy Boy, you are mine—now and forever—and there will be no changing it.
So this… this is how you nurture your children?
I was not far… I watched over each of you through your fever. I was also there while you dismantled each of your victims, Billy Boy. Malsum chuckles to his amusement. Oh, you took such pleasure in every rip and every tear; I could feel your delight in the brittle of my ancient bones. No! Billy Boy! You will eventually succumb to the wendigo. You will become everything I intended for you to be and so much more. For now, I will forgive your foolish petulance knowing you will eventually embrace all that I have to offer… but I warn you child, I will not tolerate your impertinence for long.
Bill lowers his head, feeling utterly dismal; he knew Malsum was right. There was no way back for any of them, and he knew it. Trapped forever in a ghoulish form, Malsum had cursed them to endlessly crave the taste of human flesh. Bill began to doubt his resolve—what good were emotions and memories if he can no longer live a normal existence or share them with another. He could not see himself coveting such memories as a greedy dragon covets gold and precious gems. He wondered if keeping his humanity intact would prove to be too much of a burden as Malsum had warned him it would. Bill decides that now is not the time to make any more hasty decisions. He needs to get himself and his brothers to safety. He needs Malsum’s help to accomplish that.
Just get us the hell out of here.
Adlemeyer and Blaster haul Nuke’s severely burned body up the beach. Each secures his arms over their shoulders, taking on the full weight of Nuke’s incapacitated body as their own. The incendiary round had damaged or destroyed more than seventy percent of Nuke’s outer dermis, and the extent of his damage ran deep into his bones. Although regenerative healing had already begun its work, it seems trivial in comparison to the accelerated healing of previous gunshot wounds. They lay Nuke at Bill’s feet and could sense he is still alive. Bill could faintly feel Nuke in his thoughts as he stares down at the charred remains of his brother.
Sitting in a circle, creating a protective ring around their unconscious brother, the wendigo wait for their father to speak. Bill wonders to himself if Malsum even cares that Nuke had almost died.
Look down at your brother’s remains and heed this warning. The flame is a wretched thing and no ally of the wendigo; you will cower before it. Hide your eyes from the light and fear the sun, lest you wish to suffer the same fate as he. Few weapons men possess can harm wendigo. Of fire, sun, and silver, silver is the deadliest of the three. If any object made from silver should pierce your icy heart, you will fall dead. Silver and light are the building tools of my brother. You will learn to fear and hate them equally.
Malsum falls silent, casting his will over the beach. The wind rapidly materializes along the shoreline and violently twists upward, forming a large wall of swirling sand. Each of the wendigo, short of Nuke, convulses as ancient energies stir within them and surface, dancing like ethereal wisps off their cold clammy skin. They dance in tune with Malsum’s spell, long sickly tongues whip like tornados in the night air as if praising the coming storm. Black obscuring clouds consume the starry night and lightning crackles in destructive purple arcs as thunder rumbles across the blackened sky. The dust devil quickly reaches thirty feet in radius, towering nearly fifty feet above the wendigo.
My progeny—you have experienced and survived my fever. That time is past and you have become wendigo. There is, however, so much more to gain at a cost. Willfully choose to eat the flesh of your lineage, drink the juices from the heart of the vine and then, and only then, will your true power manifest. Do so, and again, walk in the skin of a man. Learn to control nature as well as weather and it will aid you in your survival. Reality bends to the will of a wendigo. I will show you a mere taste of that power allowing you to ride my coattails to safety.
The dust devil expands up the ridge, devouring the dead in its invisible grasp. Above the wolf pack, they watch with titillating reverence as numerous bolts of lightning violently strike downward with wrath, exploding around them. Between the magnificent purplish arcs of electricity, they can see Malsum’s wolfish eyes looking down upon his children under the night sky.
Nuke is the first one devoured by the massive cyclone. His damaged body spins upward out of control as he slams into the dead soldiers and continuously rises toward the yellow eyes at the peak of the cyclone. Adlemeyer’s tongue lashes outward, penetrating the whirling wall and then he too quickly vanishes. Spinning furiously in circles, Adlemeyer rises upward into the cyclone, higher and higher until he is no longer visible. Violently, the Hummer rocks back and forth coming up off the ground and then dropping down again—the magnitude of the cyclone is so great that the vehicle effortlessly enters into the fray, taking both Blaster and Bill with it.
Golf ball-sized hail falls to the ground as freezing heavy rain pelt the sands. The cyclone moves out over the ocean, causing waves to reach instant heights of fifty feet or more. The storm consumes the beach entirely as heavy bodies of saltwater crash downward, devouring the platinum sands and flooding the wendigo’s lair. The cyclone is now more than a hundred meters in height. It moves southeast toward the Indian Ocean at a speed of one hundred miles per hour and then disappears into the dark horizon with heavy thunderstorms carrying death within it.