Red Moon: Revolution: Chapter 32

The turban had to go. It was all sweaty, and as much as the locals claimed that it helped and no matter how much history was behind the piece of cloth, Trevor couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to breathe, have the hot, dry air on his skin. Let them know that he was American if his blinding white skin didn't give him away already. He wasn't even there sneak around anyways. Director Brennan had her own people on that. He was the heavy support. Himself and the three other werewolves with him.

Trevor tugged at the cloth which came away easily once the first knot came loose. He tossed it aside with a quick flick of his wrist where the three-foot-long white cloth was caught up in a breeze and was blown down the hill and towards the grouping of buildings that he and the others were watching. Trevor cursed at not just burying it. If those people down there saw it, they may investigate. Instead, the turban got caught in a shrub where it stayed.

Trevor breathed out a sigh of relief and rolled over onto his back where he pulled out a pair of binoculars from the front of his shirt by pulling on the cord that was around his neck.With the piece of equipment in hand, Trevor rolled back onto his belly. He wiped beads of newly formed sweat from his forehead with the back of his free hand and then brought the eyepieces to his face.

There were four buildings in total. Small, single story structures made of mud, or clay, whatever the locals used to build with. They were clustered around a single well with a bent thatch cover and a hand crank for bringing up the bucket. Each building had their only doors facing towards the well with two windows on each side.

"Pitiful," Trevor said to himself. To think that this place was actually something on a map. It wasn't a town, a village. It was barely livable. There were no roads, and the nearest hospital was back in Cairo. Who would want to come and live here? Those that didn't want to be found.

It was half a month ago that Director Caughey had contacted them with information. He knew where to find the elusive Director Shaab and as a token of 'friendship' and cooperation, he shared the information.

No one was quick to jump on the info since there was a level of distrust towards Director Caughey. Brennan sent out her spies, and it was only after confirmation was received that a team was assembled.

Trevor had volunteered himself. For too long he had been a useless burden that had to hide behind Dmitri. He wasn't that weak man anymore. He was someone new. Someone who could help.

Dmitri hadn't been too thrilled and immediately made it known. It had only been a month since the two had their evening in the woods shortly after Dmitri had successfully impregnated the chosen surrogate mother. He wanted Trevor to stay behind and recover, but the reborn werewolf was feeling up for some adventure and wanted to test just how much of his potential had been unlocked.

Now here he was, laying on top of a sand dune and watching the village where Shaab was supposedly hiding.

For the past several hours, he had seen one person with a weapon, an AK-47, seven goats, a white bird, a gray bird and a snake that had slithered a bit too close for comfort.

"We sure this is the place?" Trevor asked Dmitri, who was behind him, panting profusely despite not being in his wolf form. "Nothing is happening."

"Shaab is in hiding," Dmitri said and laid back in the sand, watching the few wispy clouds in the sky. "He is keeping a low profile. I would expect there to be no activity out in the open. We will wait until night and see if anything happens then."

Trevor sighed. Ever since the surgery, he had felt more active in everything. He no longer wanted to stay home where it was safe and boring. He wanted to get out into the world and see it with Dmitri. Sitting around and watching some buildings for hours on end wasn't what he had been expecting. "We should just go down there," Trevor suggested. "Just rile them up, get some kind of reaction from them."

"We wait."

Trevor couldn't believe that by removing a few pieces of metal from his head, he had somehow been turned into the impatient one.

Night couldn't come fast enough for Trevor, who made his boredom known the entire time. When it did come, there was more activity. The lights in the buildings was enough to allow Trevor to see what was going on in the center by the well.

"I see something." He explained what he saw.

There was a man in a robe with a gun. He walked up to the well as if to get a bucket of cold water. Instead, he grabbed the rope that the bucket was attached to and gave it a hard yank. The pulley bent sideways when tugged and then shifted back into place. The man stood by for a moment and then stepped into the well. He didn't fall. He slowly lowered down into it.

"It's like something out of James Bond." Trevor lowered his binoculars and wiped some sand that had crusted on his face. He remembered the last time he had to do that. It was years ago, way before he had gotten involved in any of this. He and friends had driven down to Oregon for the weekend. He had just graduated and instead of going on the Senior Class trip to watch a Mariner's game and tour the Puget Sound, he wanted to get drunk.

He and three others, who had also decided to opt out of the trip piled into a single car with backpacks and beer and drove the few hours to the summer beaches of Oregon. Oregon was never warm. The water was gray, and the sky was overcast, but to a bunch of teenagers with alcohol, it was perfect. They spent hours wrestling in the sand and Trevor, even in his drunken stupor had to keep from staring too long at the asses of his friends. They knew he was gay, and they made sure to point it out whenever they caught him looking. It was a good time and made Trevor think more about the life he had left behind. There was regret. He had a good life, and he hoped that maybe one day he would be able to think of something to allow him to at least visit it again. It would be impossible however as long as the Inquisition was still around. One thing at a time.

"Got a call from Brennan's people." One of the other werewolves said as he put up the receiver of the radio they had brought with them along with the other various supplies that Rommel had given to them. The old wolf thought it would be funny to provide them will antique equipment.

"I had to use it the last time I paraded through Africa. I think that you should too. Think of it as a hands-on history lesson." Rommel had joked when he had given it to them. The equipment worked surprisingly well.

"And?" Dmitri asked and wiped the sand from his clothes, slapping his sides softly to avoid making too much noise. Not as if he would need the clothes for much longer. There was nothing around to wear that would remain after changing into massive wolves.

"They have the place surrounded. We are clear to go. They'll stop any stragglers from getting away."

"Finally." Trevor jumped to his feet with as much enthusiasm as a child being told he was going to Disney Land. "I've been waiting for some action."

Before Dmitri could tell Trevor to calm down, he was nothing more than a red tail off in the distance. He had no choice but to follow before that ball of fur and testosterone did something stupid. It was as if he was a newly transformed werewolf. Their bodies didn't know how to deal with all of the new chemistry and functions that came with being a wolf. There was often a massive surge of adrenaline and testosterone which made for very wild and unpredictable wolf. Trevor was like this a few weeks ago, and he was still like it now. Dmitri had loved it at first, having such an energetic mate that was more than happy, and all too willing to lift his tail to be mounted or do the mounting himself. It was a very productive first week, but soon Dmitri found himself getting worn out by his mate. Now it was several more weeks, and Trevor showed no signs of slowing down. It could very well be that this was going to be it. Dmitri loved Trevor more than anything else in the world so he would do what he could to keep up.

He could smell them now that he was closer. The buildings had been surrounded by dunes on all sides with no wind. All of the scents had been trapped down in this natural bowl. He couldn't smell them from his watching spot above, but now that he was down the dune, rapidly closing in on the buildings, he could smell them all. There were a lot of people here, in the houses, and somewhere else, down the well most likely. Trevor wanted to get them by surprise, so instead of going around the front, he ran right at the back wall of the closest building.

Four men sat inside, their weapons leaned against the wall. They were ready to call it a night with a cup of tea when their own radio came to life. A man, a sentry, was yelling an alarm in Arabic. Something had tripped the perimeter sensors, not the ones two miles out to give an early warning, those had been disabled by Brennan's spies long ago, but the ones that were just part way down the dune. They made the deadly mistake of dismissing it, assuming it was one of the goats that milled around, looking for small plants that weeded through the sand to eat.

One of the men got up to stretch his legs. He walked around the interior of the building which had four mats and a small stove along with sacks of food and their own private belongings. He walked to the back and leaned against the wall. He didn't live long enough to even register what happened when a wolf came bursting through the wall right where he was standing, tearing his upper torso from his legs. It startled the wolf, but not as much as it did the other three men.

Trevor shook off the half of a body from him and immediately lunged at the next closest individual who had fallen back into his butt and was staring at him with his mouth open in a silent scream. A  quick swipe of his paw stopped him from actually screaming. Another man had fallen onto the stove where the hot tea was boiling. His dry clothes had caught fire, and he was too busy trying to pat out his burning back to defend himself when the wolf bit hit neck, nearly severing the head completely. The fourth and final ran out the door, right past his weapons. He ran out and began screaming. "Wolf! Wolf!" He yelled in Arabic, sounding the alarm. It was the smart thing to do. He still died moments later from the sheer impact when Trevor rammed into him.

By then Dmitri and the other two werewolves arrived to the sight of fifteen armed men running out of the three remaining buildings. There was a moment of hesitation from both sides before a man who had never seen a werewolf before simultaneously soiled himself and opened fire, missing entirely, but setting off the entire scene. Three men turned and ran immediately, they had fought werewolves before and knew that their best chance was to run and hope that they would be forgotten about, it was how they survived the last time. The rest fired on the four werewolves.

Trevor was hit instantly. There was pain, but he really didn't care too much about it. It was like being on nitrous oxide at the dentist's office when they jabbed their needle full of numbing medicine into the gum. He felt it, but it was more of an afterthought. He charged forward through the hail of bullets as the other werewolves decided to strafe and dodge the horribly aimed bullets. Most of the Inquisition's elite soldiers were either dead, no longer part of the war or had defected, what was left were people in the lower echelons who were pushed to the frontlines to fill in the gaps. They were no soldiers.

Five more decided to start running when they saw the giant red wolf running at them, ignoring their gunfire. The rest just couldn't move their feet or dislodge their fingers from their triggers. When Trevor did hit the first person, two people were simply standing there, petrified and holding down the trigger of a gun that no longer had bullets.

Trevor jumped on another. He screamed and flailed, trying to jab the yellow eyes of the wolf. Instead, he got a neck full of teeth.

Dmitri and the other two quickly fell on the rest and mopped them up. They let those that ran go. They would be picked up by Brennan's people soon. They would get to live.

Trevor was about to go and try the well when a light came from the hole in the ground.

"I was wondering when I would get my chance." A cry in broken English came, and a person climbed from the well. "To finally fight a werewolf." The man stood up. He was in the same traditional clothes as the locals, but he carried a scimitar in one hand and a long-barrelled revolver in the other. This was a man who knew what he was doing, a Guardian, who had been assigned to Shaab years ago, but never used. There were so few guardians. Most were killed early in the war, used as shock troopers to great effect. Guardians were the only humans capable of fighting a werewolf one on one due to their advanced and demanding training. He had wanted to fight for so long, but Shaab had been too terrified to lose his one reliable fighting man and so he had kept him close until now when werewolves were knocking on the door.

Trevor looked at Dmitri, who gave him a worried look. Trevor could smell no fear on this man. Instead, he was covered in a scent that he usually only smell on other werewolves who were so full of themselves, so brave and cocky. This human wasn't afraid, but he didn't realize just who he was dealing with. Trevor wasn't just any werewolf. No, he was the biggest, the fastest and the one who could heal almost instantly. Under all the blood and red fur was seamless skin. All of his bullet wounds had already healed, and not even the silver coated blade and bullets the Guardian had would do much good. It would slow him down, but the man would need more than a few bullets to stop this wolf.

"Come now." The man said and raised both arms up defiantly. I know I will die today, but I will take as many of you down as I can before then. "Come at me! All of you and taste my blade." He lowered his arms and began to run at a fair pace towards Trevor, who stood still.

Dmitri growled a warning at the man and at Trevor to move. Trevor remained still, watching with curiosity and the same defiance as the man ran at him unwavered by the werewolf's lack of a reaction, it only made him angrier. He went into a full sprint, but instead of lashing out immediately, which would have been predictable, he anticipated an attack and lunged to the left and then swung his curved sword.

Trevor didn't attack, nor did he dodge the attack. The blade sunk into his shoulder all the way to the bone.

The man first thought was to cheer triumphantly at having landed a blow, but instead, he froze as the red wolf snorted and turned to him. The hackles rose up and suddenly the smell of fear was in the air. The man was dead moments later.

Dmitri trotted over to his wounded mate and yanked the blade out with his teeth, spitting it out onto the sand. The wound was deep and horrid. The silver was doing its work, but not very effectively. The wound was still healing, but only slowly. Normally such a wound by a silver coated blade would require immediate attention and cleaning before the silver could enter the bloodstream. Looking at the wound, Dmitri figured that it wouldn't be a problem, so instead he walked up to his larger mate and nuzzled under his chin for a moment before walking over to the well.

One of the other wolves took the rope in his teeth and pulled on the rope. Two seconds later, the water drained from the well and the bottom opened up, revealing the bunker which Shaab was now trapped in. Trevor would have dove in right then and there if a runner hadn't arrived to inform them that Shaab had made contact and was surrendering.

Pity, though Trevor. He would have loved to have hunted down the last Director opposed to them through the tunnels of his bunker.