"13"
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Thirteen inmates from the Utah State Prison are offered parole and sent to Iraq to investigate potential illegal genetic experimentation. One by one, members of the team are discovered eviscerated.
The White Wolf
I am a 100% disabled Army veteran,cowboy and self proclaimed mountain man.I have written twenty three novels that range from American western, Horror,Sci Fi and Vietnam. I have won numerous writing competitions sponsored by the League of Utah writers.
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"13" - The White Wolf
13
By
The White Wolf
* * * *
Smashwords Edition
* * * *
Published by
The White Wolf on Smashwords
Cover design by author
Copyright © 2012 by The White Wolf
* * * *
13
In the early morning darkness, the ground shifted silently. In the distance, a huge dark shape loomed up, causing sudden fear and irritation. The appearance of the dark one caused those that saw it to shrink back. Sulfurous lights flickered to life then flashed. Most dared not defend themselves. Then screams of agony and fear ruptured the night, screams that seemed to go on forever… then silence.
***
Jenks hunched over and took each step with great care as he wove his way through the low sand dunes. He held his M-16 loosely as he moved forward. Where his eyes went, so went the muzzle. There was no sign of anything passing this way before him; which was not unusual. Every night since he had been there the wind had blown fiercely between 2400 hours and 0200 hours and completely rearranged the sandy landscape. What bothered him was an oppressive dread that hung over him. Something was watching him.
To his immediate relief, he saw a concrete pad about a foot higher than the dunes around it. It sat at the rim of a shallow valley about a mile wide that ran out to the sea. The pad had a hole in it where someone might have planned to set a vertical support, but never did. The hole that remained was a perfect place for a forward observation point. At the leading edge, a man with combat gear could stand reveal only his head. On the other hand, he could sit down on the submerged rear lip and still expose his head minimally.
Jenks approached the pad carefully, not wanting to startle Chavez. He hunkered down and softly, but with clarity, called out Chavez’s name as if it were a question. He did not want to be shot, and his call asked permission to approach. Only silence answered him. Jenks thought Chavez must be asleep or was just being obstinate. He knew Chavez detested him because of his crimes against boys that had earned him the name, Tree Climber. He stepped up on the pad and twisted the toe of his boot, grinding the sand into the concrete and making a scraping sound.
Chavez, I’m here to relieve you, so don’t shoot me." Sweat began to run down his face, as he feared Chavez just might do that.
Jenks stood and walked gingerly over to the hole. Chavez’s gear was laid out on the lip in neat order, just as if he were keeping house. His grenades sat to the right, star clusters to the left along with his extra forty round magazines. Chavez’s M-16 hung from a metal wire that stuck out of the concrete and had been bent into a hook.
Mac told us never to walk away from our weapons. I’ll bet Chavez wouldn’t leave his golf clubs lying around like that,
Jenks mused. He scanned the area and noted a dark shape lying on the ground about four feet in front of the pad. Why would he lie down in the sand?
Jenks walked over to the prone figure. Chavez,
he said with contempt. There was no response so he tapped the man’s arm with his boot. Come on, Chavez. This isn’t funny. Answer me.
A slight wisp of breeze cooled his skin as it passed. Then Jenks noticed an oddly familiar smell. Chavez, will you get up so I can take over?
Jenks leaned down to shake the man’s shoulder. The shock of what he saw was repulsed his mind. He jerked back a few steps as his throat issued a sound that was part vomit and part uncomprehending fear. He stood there for a moment, trying to get his mind to register what his eyes had just seen.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the ground shift. Then all reason vanished. He dropped his weapon and started running. Oh damn, oh damn, please God, oh damn.
He felt week in the knees. They buckled and he staggered from side to side, pathetically wailing for help.
Eleven men abruptly came off their cots. They grabbed their weapons and dropped onto the floor then scurried like rats to find cover. Something large slammed into the gym doors, savagely kicking, screaming, and pleading for entrance. They all fanned out and checked the boarded-up windows to prevent any possible outsiders from a quick look-see into the interior of the gym. A man took a position at each of the eight, three-by-five foot windows. They made a view port by sliding a small board to one side. Now eight men intently studied the darkened sandy area outside the gym for a threat that would warrant the screaming outside the door.
When the men had first arrived at the building, they reinforced the double steel doors that provided the only access. They used pieces of one-inch rebar formed into brackets. They ran the ends of the brackets through holes in a three-quarter inch metal plate that was six inches wide and two feet long. They had found four plates in the bombed-out ruins of the compound. Two were welded in line with each other on the doorframe on either side of the doors. The remaining two were welded on either side