“‘Attack’ is the only order worth remembering.”
“Fuck! Fucking! Fuck-ity fuckhole fuckass!” Israel shouted before flopping face first onto the table
He and company were chatting about no particular subject in Saren’s breakfast nook after coming for ‘midnight breakfast’ prior to his eruption. They all stared at him like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck.
“Huh,” Joseph stabbed his meal with his fork, “The pancakes aren’t that bad, are they? I mean, I’m no cook but-,”
“Not what I meant!” Israel said with his face still on the table, “I am so bored of just waiting for something interesting to happen!”
He wasn’t wrong. They hadn’t had a proper hunt since the farm incident four months prior.
“You know,” Saren said, rising from her seat and rubbing her temples, “I would have loved having time off like this back when it was just me. But now I have to deal with you Neanderthals,”
“But can’t we do fucking something?” Israel moaned, finally lifting his head from the table to look at Saren, “I mean, for fucks sake, can’t we at least go to…something? Anything!?”
Saren buried her face in her hands and sighed, keeping her temper down “Look,” she hissed “If nothing happens in two days, we go on official vacation for a week, okay? Can you survive two fucking days?”
Israel perked up “Damn straight I can!” He said before bouncing up and running out the front door in belligerent excitement.
Joseph shoveled another pancake into his mouth and swallowed it without chewing “Wasn’t it supposed to snow tonight, like, a lot?” he pondered.
“Whatever, he’s made his bed. I think it’s morning now, technically” Saren sat back down and took a sip of her coffee. “How much do you guys want to bet he comes back in covered in blood?”
“Wait,” Tristan interjected, “His own blood or someone else’s?”
“Let’s make it three ways,” Joseph said “He comes back fine, I win. Covered in his own blood, Saren wins. And if it’s someone else’s blood, Tristan wins. Winner gets trophy rights to the next hunt,”
The others nodded and turned back to their food.
“Someone close the door. I’m getting glass cutters here,” Saren said, adjusting her shirt and lack of bra
Tristan stood up and walked to her door. When he started pushing it closed it burst open. Israel sauntered back in and sat back down at his seat, completely unscathed, causing Joseph to grin like the cat that ate the canary.
Saren began to say something but was cut off by Israel “Saren, you’re gonna want to get rid of those corpses I just made on your front porch,”
“What!?” She darted to the door and opened it, just as Israel said, two corpses, fresh and bleeding on her porch, “What the fucking hell, man?!” she grabbed them by the pant sleeves and dragged them inside as fast as she physically could. “Seriously?!” She slammed the door shut and looked at her team “What the fuck is wrong with you?! You just killed two random people!”
“Found these on them,” Israel calmly threw down a set of pictures of the entire team and pointed at the corpses “Check the faces, they should be familiar,” Saren knelt down and looked at both of their faces. They were skinheads, the skinheads that were beating on her when she met the others.
“What the hell?” Saren said “Were they going to start more shit or something?” she nudged one with her foot “Either way, someone get a couple trash bags. Fucking shit man, don’t just pull-”
A groan was heard from one of the bodies as it began to writhe, alive.
Joseph and Tristan quickly grabbed him and hoisted him up by his shoulders. Saren grabbed him by the chin and brought his face up to her level.
“Tell me why you’re here or we’re going to go Ramsay Snow on your ass,” Saren stated cold as she possibly could. He spat blood into her face. Saren chuckled and punched him in the stomach making him curl around her fist and spew blood onto her floor. “Yeah, I’m told that hurts,”
“Imma get the hedge sheers,” Israel said beginning to walk to Saren’s storage closet “What should we cut off first, fingers, toes or balls? Ah it’s so much fun just to prepare,” he was lying through his teeth, hoping that his assumption of the skinhead’s intelligence and cowardice was accurate.
“You are fucking freaks!” The skinhead shouted “You’re days are fucking numbered!”
“Oh?” Joseph wondered aloud before twisting the skinhead’s arm around, “Why’s that?”
“Boss is gonna fuck you up,” the skinhead spat “You wrecked some of his boys. He’ll be coming for you,”
Saren grabbed him by the neck and brought him back to eye level “Unless you want to be able to join a castrati choir, I recommend telling us everything you know,”
Just then, a ringing was heard. It was the dead skinhead’s phone. Israel grabbed it from the corpse’s jacket and checked it.
“It’s a text. ‘hey fatasses, get back to the hideout before I cave your fucking skulls in. And if you shitbrains forgot, it’s the big red one in the construction site part of town, you fucking idiots, sincerely Irina,’” After Israel was finished, Tristan ran his sword through the skinhead’s back, effectively ending him for good.
“Won’t need him anymore,” he said as he cleaned his blade on the skinhead’s shirt
“’PS,” Israel started again “If you fucking pricks died with clean blades, I will violate your fucking corpses. I will do the same if you make me wait for too long,’ this girl has a vocabulary, doesn’t she?” He tossed Saren the phone.
“Well, what’s our next move?” Joseph asked, returning from the back with trashbags and a hatchet.
Saren simply grew a smile so wide that it would give the Cheshire cat a run for his money as she formulated her plan.
The team stepped out of Saren’s car and surveyed the area. Just as was said in the text, a red warehouse built and abandoned by the city government.
Saren shoved her boot against the warehouse door and flung it open from the force of her kick. She strode in flanked by Israel and Tristan, barely giving any acknowledgement to the twenty-something skinheads inhabiting the building as they walked to the center of the room.
“How’s it going shitbirds?” Saren sardonically asked “Expecting those two idiots, I take it? Well, they’re dead as fucking doornails,”
One stepped forward. A girl wearing a revealing leather vest, running her fingers through her shag of dark hair as she was wringing the other around the handle of a large kukri styled machete she had on her belt.
“Was gonna kill those fucking idiots anyway,” she spat on the ground, “You did me a favor, bitch,”
Israel chuckled, “I take it you’re Irina, the picture they had for you didn’t do you justice. I was actually looking forward to seeing a talking asshole and I am very disappointed,”
“Fuck you!” Irina shouted, “We’ve got a room full of killers! What the fuck do you have?”
They only laughed as they stepped to the side to show the door and Joseph walking in. He was wearing a button up shirt under a suit jacket and tucked into his slacks. In each hand, a pistol, small snub nose revolvers. He had an additional pair in his suit pockets, one in his breast pocket and one held in his teeth with his sword strapped across his back.
With his team stepping out of the way he had a clear view of the crowd in front of him. He levelled his pistols and let loose into them as they began to panic. They began dropping as they regained their wits and attempted to counter attack. A fat one grabbed Joseph by the wrist and was struck with Joseph’s free hand and weapon, dropping him and allowing Joseph to finish him the last bullet of his first pair. He dropped the empty pistols and grabbed the one in his mouth and the one in his breast pocket and resumed his bloody work.
Joseph shot down whatever moved in front of him and what got too close he battered down with the solid metal of the pistols before shooting them as well.
He dropped the second set of empty pistols and looked over what remained of his quarry, the girl Irina and ten other thugs surrounding her and shitting themselves. Joseph seized the last two pistols he had and fired of a pair of shots each, dropping three targets. Joseph was grabbed by the arm and mistakenly fired a shot into the air before shoving his second pistol into his assailant’s torso and firing. He continued firing and watching his insignificant prey die with the grim satisfaction he was accustomed to.
Irina showed no sign of worry or complaint when her last companion was shot in the face by Joseph and she even began to laugh. Her roaring laughter was dreadfully devoid of all warth, mirth and was colder than the midwinter air just outside the door of the blood drenched warehouse. Her laugh dwindled into a chilled giggle as she looked Joseph in the eyes “Do it,” she called to him “Shoot me in the fucking head,”
Joseph clenched the trigger and was met with a loud and empty click. He looked at his pistol, realizing that it was out of ammo, along with the pistol in his other hand.
“Well damn,” Joseph swore, “This is kinda anti-climactic, huh?”
“Yeah it fucking is,” Irina agreed, “Well, this was fun, hope you assholes die in a ditch,” she turned toward the backdoor of the building and began walking towards it. The concrete wall a foot away from her head exploded as a magnum bullet struck it.
“Fuck me with a frying pan!” Irina fell onto her back before quickly standing back up and looking at Joseph, who had the gremlin pointed at her with a smoking barrel. “Fuck you, you fucking cock ho-lyshit that’s a big pistol,”
Joseph fired again, twice, this time neither were warning shots. The bullets struck Irina just under her shoulder and in her abdomen and out onto the wall. Blood splattered on the floor, but she barely flinched as the hot lead shot into her. She raised her hand and drove her fingers into the wound on her shoulder and pulled out the bullet and dropped it on the floor with a toothy smile.
Her eyes flashed yellow, and her teeth distended and grew, becoming a mouth of fangs. Her hands and arms sprouted dark, thick hairs and her nails elongated into black claws.
She dashed and grabbed Joseph within a single second and tossed him across the room onto the floor and into an ever growing puddle of blood.
Tristan and Saren pulled their pieces and began peppering Irina with ineffective shots as she charged them and bludgeoned them against the walls.
Irina let out a shrill gasp as she felt a sharp pain in her side. She turned and Israel had his cutlass stuck into her side. He withdrew it and swung but Irina grabbed his wrist and his neck.
“You die first,” her grip tightened, “I always wanted to make someone spout out their last words, c’mon let’s hear them!”
“I got wood, man,” Israel squirmed in her grip and grinned at her, “Why do I have wood?”
Irina’s smile vanished and was replaced with a confused frown
“Well…,” her smile came back, “A for effort!” her grip tightened slightly before she felt another sharp pain in her back.
Joseph was up and had his sword shoved into Irina’s back.
“Yo, she-bitch,” he withdrew his sword from her and settled into a proper stance, “Let’s go,”
Irina casually tossed Israel against a wall and drew her sword. She lunged with an overhead strike and was parried away and countered with a wide sweep. She back peddled and struck low and was parried away again. Joseph swung wide, missed, spun around, and swung again, this time cutting a gash along the front of Irina’s left thigh. Irina cried out and clutched the wound before lunging at Joseph with her clawed hand only to get his sword run through her palm and out between her fingers. She reeled back in pain, dropping her blade and clutching her split hand.
She dropped to a knee, whimpering at her hand. Joseph saw his opportunity and raised his sword and brought it down onto the place where Irina was a second before. Joseph was dumbfounded for a moment before feeling deep shooting pains arch across his back and stumbled around to see Irina. Irina casually licked the blood off her claws before suddenly dashing and driving the same claws into Joseph’s left arm. She stood for a moment, relishing in her apparent easy victory, but then felt coldness in her abdomen, followed by a warm and wet feeling. She looked down to see Joseph’s sword, pressed just under her ribcage and the blood seeping around it.
Irina stepped back a few paces, her arms and teeth reverting to normal and fell to her knees, clutching at the sword but not touching it. Her face was a mask of fear and pain as tears ran down her face and she began whimpering. Joseph, coming to his senses through the pain and adrenalin, placed his foot on her shoulder and withdrew his blade, eliciting a loud gasp from the wounded girl.
“Please…” Irina whispered “Help me,”
Joseph staggered and steadied himself using his sword as a support. He took his time helping his companions off the floor. They stood around Irina’s bleeding form.
“It appears she wants help,” Joseph said as he lifted his sword and drove the tip deep between Irina’s ribs. Irina’s eyes widened as her mouth silently opened in mock of a scream.
“The fuck man!?” Israel and Tristan shouted in unison. Saren gingerly grabbed Joseph’s arm and lifted it which lifted the sword out of the bleeding girl.
“…fu-…” Irina gurgled out “Fuck…you…”
“That won’t work,” Saren stated while going through her pockets, “You need silver to kill a werewolf,” she sighed, “Silver that I didn’t bring,”
Israel opened his coat pocket and grabbed a coin, “I brought something,” he flipped the coin into the air with his thumb and caught it, “I always have my lucky silver,”
He knelt down and began reaching for one of Irina’s wound with the coin. Irina meekly grabbed his wrist with her good hand. Tires screeching on pavement rang from outside the warehouse. Several car doors opening and slamming shut. Shouting. Saren pulled Israel back to a stand.
“We leave, now!” She ordered while running to the door opposite the noise. She threw the door open and ran to the corner of the building, pressing herself to the wall and readying her pistol. Her comrades followed suit, sneaking and limping around the building as the shouting traveled inside. They bolted to Saren’s car, and gunned the engine, peeling out and away from the site of the slaughter. By the time the pursuers came out of the building all they could find of their quarry were tire tracks being rapidly covered by the falling snow and a message in blood on the snow.
‘Fuck you!’ -Love Voyevoda