Alec Meehan leaned back in his rolling chair and cocked his head to the side. The image on his screen didn’t make any more sense from that angle. He shook his head slowly and minimized the image. He didn’t want to look at it for a second longer than he had to. He turned to the other monitor on his desk and began typing, trying to explain the scene in a way that was professional enough to be credible but graphic enough to convey the horror of the incident. He hadn’t visited the scene himself. It had been referred to his office by police detectives who thought an animal might be involved. He would look at the scene for himself soon, even though so much time had passed everything would be cleaned up by now. It would help him understand just how high the body parts were in the trees, just how long the trail of blood was, just how damaged the campsite was. Then he could assess what he was dealing with.
The phone on his desk rang, giving him a welcome excuse to stop looking at pictures of dead children. He answered, “This is Meehan.”
“We’ve got a call from a guy calling himself a source,” a woman on the other end of the line said. “He knows things. Mentioned the Cabal, asked for you by name. Says he’s ‘not the kind of person allowed in the Cabal or the NCB.’”
“Well that’s not nothing,” Meehan agreed, “But why is this coming all the way up to me?”
“He says he’s stumbled into something ‘cataclysmic.’ He can’t stop it and quote: ‘Your vampire overlords won’t care, but dozens will die.’”
The National Conservation Bureau, like most public agencies, couldn’t ignore threats of any kind. They had a system for taking the calls and protocol for who to tell about them. Generally Meehan didn’t hear about reports and rumors. He took orders from his boss, the director of the bureau, and figured out who needed to be saved, what needed to be killed, and what they would tell the public about it. The problem was that the source’s jab about “vampire overlords” wasn’t just a conspiracy theory that got an internet upgrade every six months. They didn’t have mind control machines and the president wasn’t a vampire like the latest round of online videos claimed, but a rather specific group of monsters did have undue influence over several agencies and especially congress. The group was specific enough that Meehan knew their names and had the bare bones laid out for how he would take them out if it ever became necessary. Unfortunately, if he ever managed to kill one of them, it would be the last thing he ever did. The only thing he didn’t know was whether they’d fire him before they murdered him.
“Send it through,” Meehan said. He ran his fingers through his short blond hair and leaned forward on his desk, waiting patiently for the analyst on the other end of the line to send him the call.
“Hello?” a soft masculine voice murmured over the phone.
“Hello,” Meehan said casually. “My name is Alec Meehan. I hear you need to tell me something important.”
“In person,” the voice said. “Don’t argue. Just do it or don’t. Once you see me, you’ll know whether you need to act on my information or not.”
“I’m not arguing,” Meehan said, “but if you just tell me you’re a werewolf, I’ll believe you are.”
“I’m not,” the voice said. “I was looking into missing people. Stumbling on the Cabal was incidental. Meet me at Chapel of the Veil in two hours.”
Meehan grunted in surprise and said, “That’s a pretty quick turnaround. I suppose you want me to come alone?”
“No, you wouldn’t anyway. No one is trying to kill you today, Dr. Meehan. And it’s just enough time for you to get out here. This is urgent. Hear me out or don’t, but dozens will die if we don’t do something.”
The source hung up the phone. Meehan put his own phone on its base slowly and leaned back in his chair.
***
Alec Meehan pulled his unmarked black SUV into the parking lot of the Chapel of the Veil an hour and forty-five minutes later. He parked beside the only other car in the lot and stepped into the bright afternoon sun. He wore the dress shirt and slacks he’d been wearing in the office, minus the coat and tie. In the vehicle he had both his NCB uniform that made him look a lot like a park ranger and his dark hunting fatigues. Walking up the cracked sidewalk to the old, battered front door, he looked like he might be attending church service if it weren’t the middle of the week. His muscles rippled easily beneath the thin shirt as he gripped the handle and pulled the heavy door open easily. He slipped his sunglasses off and tucked them into his shirt pocket as he entered the old building.
The door led to a small foyer. Restrooms were marked to his right and left. A small table sat in front of him with little flyers outlining the order of worship. They were dated to the previous Sunday. Meehan walked past the table through double doors that had been propped open and into a small, dimly lit auditorium. On the front row near the low stage that held the preacher’s podium, a large man was sitting with his head down as if he might be praying. Meehan walked down the center aisle and took a seat across from the figure. “Dr. Meehan,” the big man said. His voice was soft but rich, clearly that of the source on the phone.
“That’s me,” Meehan acknowledged.
“Thank you for meeting me,” the man said. He slowly raised his head and sat up straight.
His long, dark hair looked fairly normal, but now that Meehan could see his face clearly, he understood what the man had meant on the phone. If he was human, it was hard to tell. Meehan couldn’t detect the exact color of his skin as it was dappled by the sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows, but his eyes were bloodshot and red. His cheeks were sunken unnaturally, and his lips were oddly thin. His ears were typical size, but they were pointed at the tip. His most striking feature was his nose, which seemed almost non-existent. Meehan didn’t react noticeably. He said, “You seemed to know a lot of things a prankster wouldn’t. I had to check it out. Would you like to share a name or a way to reach you again?”
The man shook his head. “No, you can just call me your Source for now. I help people when I can. I don’t want the things that happened to me to happen to others. But I work in the shadows for obvious reasons. I have people who help me. The people who work in this place for example. Not just by letting us meet here. But there are things I’m just not equipped for. The Cabal is organized and large. And they have property in the heart of the city.”
“Wait, the Cabal has property in Easton? Do the Unavowed know?”
“They know,” the Source replied. “They don’t love it, but it isn’t a priority. At this property, a ritual is in the works. This evening. I only found out before the sun came up this morning. I wasted time while I was unable to think of what to do. Then I called you directly. At midnight, the ritual begins. Dozens of people. Men, women, children, young, old, homeless, kidnapped, volunteers, they will all be murdered in waves. The Cabal prelacy will drink their blood. It’s an old vampire ritual that I don’t think any vampires use anymore. The werewolf twist is that the supplicants will then feast on the corpses.”
Meehan blew out a long, slow breath and shook his head. “Do you have any kind of plan for us?” he asked.
The Source shook his head. “I was studying this property closely. My search for missing people had taken me there. I can give you extensive information about the building and the few people I’ve seen coming or going, but no, I wasn’t planning to extricate dozens of people under the noses of dozens of werewolves.”
Meehan asked, “You can take me to the exact location?”
“I can,” the Source replied.
“We should go while the sun is up. I don’t think there’s a way to do this quietly.”
The Source nodded. “I thought that might be the case. I will help as much as I can.”
“You can fight werewolves?” Meehan asked.
The Source sighed. He said, “No, not very well. I have survived encounters with them, but I don’t have much offense to offer. That’s why I couldn’t figure out what to do.”
Meehan said, “You’re sure it’s going down tonight?”
“I’m sure,” the Source confirmed.
“Then let’s go for a ride,” Meehan said.
He left the little church and walked out into the bright sun. He unlocked the SUV with his key fob and opened the passenger door. The Source rushed from the inside of the church to the passenger seat, shading his eyes from the sun. He pulled the door shut quickly. Meehan didn’t immediately jump into the vehicle. Instead, he walked past the SUV to the middle of the parking lot. Another SUV pulled up within half a minute and stopped beside Meehan. The window rolled down, and a man in the green and khaki field uniform of the National Conservation Bureau gave him a nod. His name was Godfrey Renfroe, and he had been watching the church from across the highway while listening in to the conversation. His shaggy hair was turning gray and his three day growth of beard was already there. At fifty-six years old, he wasn’t generally kicking down doors with Meehan, but he would stick around to support him.
Meehan pulled his phone out and called the office. “I need a kill team immediately. Right in the middle of town. I’ll send you the address when I get there.” He listened for a moment then said “Unknown number of organized werewolves. Probably Cabal. And probably including members of the prelacy.” He listened again then said, “Good.” Then he put the phone away and looked to Renfroe.
Meehan said, “This guy is some kind of failed science experiment or something. I think he means well, but keep an eye on him while I’m focused on the job.”
“You got it,” Renfroe agreed.
Meehan returned to his own vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. The Source was slumped low in his seat with his long hair obscuring his disfigured face. “When we go in, you’re going to wait in the car. If you get out, my men are going to assume you’re a threat and deal with it. Understand?”
“I won’t be any good to you in the sunlight,” the Source said. “And I won’t be much good to you against werewolves. I’ll behave. I’m just grateful you’re going to do something.”
They pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward town. Meehan asked, “Do you know where the captives are?”
“It sounds like the sacrifices have already been gathered to the location,” the Source said, not bothering to hide his disgust. “Rumor and innuendo places the people I was trying to recover inside the building already, but I haven’t managed to get inside. I’ve seen at least six known werewolves entering the building recently though, two of them members of the prelacy.”
Meehan said, “If they’re Cabal, they’re automatically on the Red List. Should save me trouble going forward. Either way, I’m always up for taking out as many killers as I can.”
“Even when your vampire overlords tell you not to,” the Source added. “That is why I called you specifically. Red tape does not seem to be an issue for you.”
Meehan told him, “I’ll be on the street for it eventually. Or dead. I’m just doing as much as I can while I have these kinds of resources behind me. Especially on the research side of things. The more efficiently we can kill them, the safer we’ll all be.”
The Source shrugged. “I know a thing or two about mad scientists,” he said casually. “So far, you’re not as bad as most of them.”
Meehan chuckled. “Do I get to hear your story?”
“Maybe one day,” the Source replied. “It’s less interesting than you might think. Let’s just be glad whatever they were going for didn’t work.”
“Do I want to know what happened to the people who did this to you?”
“No you don’t.”
Within the hour, they were parked down the street from an old building that looked like it had once been a church. The sign out front no longer had any legible words written on it.
“A church?” Meehan asked.
“Abandoned for years,” the Source said. “I don’t know when the Cabal bought it. Or even if they did. They have many mortal associates.”
Meehan had texted the location of the church to his office, and the kill team had begun making their way to the rendezvous. In the meantime Meehan was keeping a close eye on who was coming and going. So far, only one vehicle had pulled into the driveway and disappeared behind the large building. Suddenly, the Source said, “This one!”
Meehan looked over at the passenger seat. The Source had been swiping through images on a tablet Meehan had given him. The Source handed the tablet back to Meehan. Meehan looked at the image on the screen and swore quietly before he pulled his phone from his pocket. He called the kill team that was coming to meet him.
“Alec? We’re almost there,” a man said after one ring.
“Just keeping you updated,” Meehan said. “It’s Tolliver.”
The problem wasn’t so much the man himself. It was the fact that Tolliver was an incredibly high ranking member of the Cabal prelacy. He would have an inordinate level of security with him. The man on the phone, another NCB agent known as Adam Denim, would understand the situation as well. “They’ll be shooting back,” Denim said. “We’ll figure it out. See you in a minute.”
It wasn’t long before another black SUV came around the corner. It parked in the first available spot along the street. Meehan grabbed the hand set for his radio and said, “I see you.”
Denim replied, “We’ve been talking it over. I think sensory overload is going to be our best approach.”
“I can see it,” Meehan agreed. “Especially not knowing where the hostages are. It’ll keep them out of the way.”
Renfroe interjected from this third vehicle, “These guys are good about staying away from the windows, but the drone finally got a good look at one. Facial recognition turned up Victor Hubert, Red List werewolf.”
“He’s with Tolliver,” Denim said immediately. “Low level muscle. Unger is probably in there too running security.”
“Hubert is on the second floor,” Renfroe told them. “At least two more guys in there, but I didn’t get a good look at them.”
“That’s enough for me,” Meehan said.
“Yeah,” Denim agreed. “Let’s go.”
Meehan exited the vehicle at the same time as six men poured out of the other SUV. Meehan had crawled into the back and changed into his black hunting fatigues while they waited. He matched the other six men, including the rifle slung over his shoulder and pressed to his chest. They rushed to the front door. The man in the lead worked quickly to plant explosives near the hinges on one side of the big wooden double doors. Meehan waited patiently as the men stacked up near the door and the explosives blew. It wasn’t terribly dramatic, but the door did rock sideways enough for one of the men to slam into it and throw it completely off its hinges. The team filed into the church, and Meehan followed.
Multiple flashbangs detonated in the near distance. The team moved on. No one had fired a shot yet. Then Meehan heard the horrendous howl that had nearly paralyzed him the first time he’d heard it. Years later, hearing it this time only sounded like success. There were werewolves in the building, and they had surprised them. Gunfire erupted up ahead, still loud in the confined space despite the suppressors on the rifles.
Then unsuppressed gunfire echoed through the entire building. One of the men ahead cried out in pain and fell to the floor. Meehan searched the area for targets as the men up ahead engaged the shooter. He didn’t hear any more loud gunshots, so he suspected they had hit the mark. Then he heard the thundering approach of something heavy behind them. He whirled around and squeezed off a single burst before giant claws tore through the strap of his rifle and into his chest. He stumbled backward and slammed into the wall. He dropped the rifle, and with the strap cut, it slipped to the floor. More flashbangs detonated up ahead. Meehan drew his pistol just in time as the werewolf that had attacked him closed the distance again. Giant white teeth contrasted sharply against shaggy, dark hair. Meehan aimed for the white. He managed to fire twice before the monster’s weight slammed into him, crashing them through the old, brittle wall.
Meehan didn’t even realize he was falling. He only knew the werewolf had tackled him and that he had to hang onto his pistol. He squeezed another shot off, but it went wide. Then he hit the floor and the massive creature’s weight slammed down on top of him. Meehan couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t move. The werewolf snarled right against the side of his face, but the sound turned into a pathetic gurgle. Meehan was too dazed to realize he had shot the monster in the throat multiple times. The wounds smoked and sizzled as the silver ammunition reacted to the werewolf’s blood. Meehan tried to roll over. It didn’t quite register that the weight of the werewolf was holding him down.
The room was much darker than it had been before. It wasn’t sinking in that he had fallen to a completely different level of the building. Then he heard footsteps despite his ears ringing. He stopped trying to get up and began to wiggle his body, sliding inch by inch until he was beside the dead monster instead of under it. He stumbled to his feet and looked around the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Then a door across the room opened. He was face to face with a man he had never seen before, but the man held a pistol. He began raising it toward Meehan, but Meehan raised his own gun awkwardly and shot the man once in the chest. Smoke immediately began to rise from the wound and the man let out a scream that quickly turned into an inhuman roar.
Another figure moved through the door, but this one was covered in light colored fur. The elongated snout opened to reveal hideous teeth. Meehan began shooting, but the werewolf was on him quickly. It slashed at his arm with its massive claws, causing him to drop his pistol. He fell again, and the werewolf stood over him, looking down with obvious hate in its clear, almost human eyes. Then it began to laugh. It was an odd chuffing sound, but the muscular shoulders bobbed in time and the firm belly rolled beneath the thick fur. Meehan had seen it before. It was definitely laughing. It reached down slowly and grabbed Meehan by the throat, lifting him up into the air. Meehan wanted to laugh himself, but he didn’t. The arrogant fool actually put its snout inches from Meehan’s face and growled.
“You could have had me, moron,” Meehan grunted without a hint of fear in his strained voice. He jammed his knife as viciously as he could upward into the werewolf’s throat. He had drawn it subtly from his belt with his remaining working hand without being noticed.
The werewolf tried to cry out, but the silver blade began to smoke and foam where it dug into the monster’s throat. Meehan fell to the floor again, losing his grip on the knife. The werewolf took a few steps backward, clawing at the wound silently until suddenly it fell over and began to writhe on the floor.
Meehan found his feet with a forceful groan and stood there for a moment to catch his breath. His right arm was covered in blood, and he couldn’t control it even if he tried to push through the pain. He gave up on the arm and picked up his pistol from the floor. He didn’t know how many rounds he had left, but reloading was out of the question. He left the dimly lit room and found himself in an even dimmer hallway. He slumped against the wall and tried to figure out which way to go. He heard voices, so he decided to follow them. He would either find help or a fight. Either was better than waiting to bleed to death.
He came upon an open door and stopped short of passing in front of it. The voices were inside. He thought he recognized them, but he couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t be sure of anything. Every little movement was so hard. Every thought came slowly. Finally he chanced it, calling out, “Adam?”
A man dressed in black and carrying a rifle stepped through the door and immediately reached out to take Meehan’s pistol. Meehan let him. It wasn’t Denim, but it was obviously one of his men. “Adam got shot,” the man said. “They’re working on him upstairs. Sit down, man. Sit down.”
He helped Meehan slide painfully to the floor. “Everything is so dark,” Meehan muttered.
The man produced a small flashlight and shined it directly into Meehan’s eyes. “What are you doing?” Meehan muttered, but then he realized he didn’t really care.
“Don’t move too much, Doc,” the man said. “I’m going to take care of your arm, okay? It’s going to hurt.”
“It already hurts.”
The tourniquet did in fact hurt. A raw, deep pressure, like jaws clamping down on the muscle that wouldn't let go. Each second made it worse—sharper, colder, meaner.
“Hostages?” Meehan asked through gritted teeth.
“Lots of hostages,” the man confirmed.
In that moment, they began to file out of the room slowly
“They’re going to be just fine,” the man said.
Meehan watched the NCB agents escorting the captives into the hall one by one. He wondered if the people his Source had been tracking were among them. “Tell my Source,” Meehan said. “Guy in my truck. Let him know we saved them. Tell him thank you for me.”
“Of course, Doc. We’ll get you some medicine and get you out of here. Just try to stay awake for me.”
***
Meehan woke up in a hospital bed. A tall figure stood beside the bed staring down at him through a curtain of long, dark hair. Meehan wasn’t startled. After the things he had seen, he stopped jumping at shadows a long time ago. “Are you supposed to be here?” he asked.
“Of course not,” the Source said quietly. “I just heard you were conscious at times. I wanted to thank you in person. My friends were in the church, just like I thought. You saved their lives.”
“Ah, it’s not a problem,” Meehan said weakly. “Minor inconvenience.”
The Source smiled a little. Meehan was vaguely aware it was the first time he had seen that. It made his sallow, distorted face look almost pleasant. “They say your surgery went well,” the Source told him. “Just another scar. You seem to have many. All in the line of duty?”
Meehan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Except for the ones that helped me choose my career path.”
The Source nodded. “You’ve channeled your wounds into something helpful,” he said. “Maybe you understand where I’m coming from.”
Meehan didn’t bother watching as the heavy creature backed away without making a sound. “Maybe we can work together again, Dr. Meehan,” his soft, resonant voice murmured from further away.
Meehan gave him a half-hearted thumbs up with his left hand. “Any time,” he said before slipping into unconsciousness again.