A Mother's Scream
Music: Christian East, "Slow Georgian Drums"
The paranoid feeling Jericho felt every time she was off her medication was back, intensified by her surroundings, the impending danger, and the overall strangeness of the night. She was marginally less awkward in running now that she'd gotten a pattern down, but she was still in no shape to keep this up for very long. They had to get where they were going soon or she might put both of them in serious danger.
You come to a crossroads. One road leads off into the heart of the city, where three obsidian ziggurats tower over the rest of the blown-out, ruined skyscrapers of this blasted, rotting reflection of Detroit. They stand in the distance half-finished, or perhaps half destroyed, wire frames that bleed out crimson vapors from their tenebrous, mile-high forms. Circling around them in orbit are thousands upon thousands of rusted cars, drifting lazily in a haphazard, chaotic spin.
The other road offers the gray desolation of distant, bald hills that shiver and creak with a languid roll, hundreds of houses buckling and riding atop like parasites. Are those...the Detroit suburbs? Ahead is the sprawling, mazelike complex of apartments, a jumble of wire, stone and concrete, yawning windows criss-crossed by boards, frames chewing and gumming the obstructions like they were mouths.
In the moment that Jack stops to get his bearings, you realize that you haven't seen a single person here. Just strange, nightmarish things born from fever dreams. They remind you of the dreams that the other children had and told during group therapy sessions back at the hospital.
Jack looks back over at you, licking his dry lips with a forceful, almost wolven swipe of his tongue. "We're slowing down. I just don't have fucking time to teach you how to change. You can feel them catching up, can't you?"
She nodded quickly, not understanding anything save for that one fact that caused her hairs to rise. She kept looking behind her for any sign of them and the back to Jack for instruction, her eyes almost impossibly large with fear. What did he mean they were slowing down? Does that mean they were giving up? Was it because of her that they were now done for?
His face was impassive. If Jack was frustrated, he was hiding it well - you got the sense that this was very much life or death on his part. Maybe what he meant to say was that -you- were slowing him down. But you were his burden, just like Kitt had said. Your savior's teeth are gritted, his breath no longer steam in this strange, nightmarish place you've come to. With a quick glance left, then right, Jack gives your hand another squeeze.
"It's gonna be okay. Up ahead is Thrasher's lair, and nobody's crazy enough to go in there. Cept us. Keep quiet in there, okay? Last thing we want to do is wake him up."
A creepy tingle ran down the frail girl's spine at that last part, but she was determined to, if anything, make sure Jack got out of this okay.
"Sure."
Sparing her first word since they'd started this nightmarish run, she waited for him to lead the way.
Music: Fallout 2 OST, "The Lair"
Together you climb into the tangle of concrete and rubble that composes this dark, ruined reflection of one of the city's apartment complexes. For the first time since you entered the Shadow, you can hear the howls splitting the air behind you. Not far. Maybe a block or less. Your human mind swiftly translates their call:
'Prey. Hunt. Kill.'
You have to climb an eight-foot high embankment made of crumbling stone, blackened and covered in slime. The stench wafting from beyond is indescribable - more fetid than anything you've ever smelled before. Jack lets go of your hand and runs up the wall, scrabbling forcefully up and over, rolling around to grab your hands and pull you up. You kick and struggle, putting everything you have into making it there quickly.
Jack scarcely gives you time to catch your breath, taking your hand again and pulling you through a briar patch maze of fallen rail and bunches of broken wood, bits of glass embedding themselves on the bottom of your feet painfully (take 1 Lethal). Your savior's nostrils flare when he smells your blood, but doesn't give you time to stop and fret about it. Sharp pain shoots through your tender soles, but strangely begins to quickly numb to a dull ache.
You move through a courtyard choked with garbage spilling out from doorways, rotting trash that decays and shrivels before your eyes. Your ears perk when you hear scratchings in the windows above.
The mounds of trash that lies festering on the porches of the gutted first floors of this place - they're moving. Disgusting, bloated purple maggots writhe through the offal, eating and gorging themselves. You notice that whatever they touch...decays...
You notice something that looks like a mannequin leg, but it's bleeding, like it was made out of flesh, crawling with purple maggots. One of them squeals and pops into messy green ichorous gore. Jack covers his nose and mouth with the crook of his elbow, wincing at the hideous stench of this place.
As the smells made their way into her nose her body tensed for what was sure to come. The overpowering stench of this place mixed with her newfound sense of smell and all of the running took it's toll, and she heaved over, clutching her stomach as she released it's meager contents all over the already filthy ground in front of her.
"Shit..." Jack whispers in a hiss, shaking his head. He looks irritated at first, but his gruff expression softens, and you feel his hand on your back, patting, rubbing in comforting circles. "It's gonna be alright, girl. When we get back home you can take a nice hot bath, ok? Watch some TV, sleep on the couch?" He glances back over his shoulder and takes a tentative sniff. Jack grins a bit.
"I think we lost em."
Wincing, Jericho dry heaved once more, and once more embarrassed at how pathetic she must seem. Once she was sure it was all gone the small girl straightened out, running the sleeve of the jacket over her mouth and regretting it instantly when she remembered whose it was.
"Who..are...they?" She panted, trying to take in as little of the putrid air as possible to keep herself from heaving again.
"Anshega," he spits, keeping his voice down. "Fuckers basically live to hunt and kill us. Any of us they capture, they torture and try to turn." Jack taps the scar that runs across his cheek. "Courtesy of the Anshega." He shrugs his shoulders lightly. "And if they get you and they don't kill ya, they'll try to brainwash you. They're wolves, like us – Uratha is what we call our kind. If you’re into Hollywood bullshit," Jack sneers angrily, "we’re werewolves."
Werewolves…
"Yeah, but it’s nothin’ like that, girl. Things aren’t rosy between the People. It's all about ideology and shit...who killed who like thousands of years ago. Thing is, there's way more of the Anshega than there are of us Urdaga -" Jack begins, picking his way carefully between the trash that squelches underfoot. "Or, if you prefer, Forsaken. We call the Anshega the Pure."
It's a little too quiet as you walk with him, and even though Jack tries to keep his voice down, it echoes eerily across the empty facade. He seems to notice this too.
"We can talk later about this, back on the Flesh side. I'm getting the creeps walking on Thrasher's doorstep. Az said he's like 50 feet high or someshit but he hates hearing a mother scream. Weird huh? Fucking spirits..."
Jericho followed him, hanging on to his every word but not really understanding much of it. Wolves, Forsaken, Pure, Spirits, just what were these people? What was she? He’d said they were both wolves…werewolves. But they weren’t real…were they?
Her eyes darted about nervously to every subtle movement in the yard, every perceived sound no matter how slight. She'd brought her hands to her chest and was drywashing them underneath the too-long sleeves of Jack's coat.
Music: Jesper Kyd, Assassin's Creed OST "Robert De Sable"
Suddenly, Jack whirls around, throwing you behind him with a threatening spread of his arms, baring his teeth with a growl. A rapid change overcomes his frame. His hair bristles under his skullcap and black fur pushes through the pores of his forearms and elbows, form packing on extra pounds of raw muscle and another foot in height. Jack's fingernails lengthen to sharp points, and the growl in his throat is deep and wolven - you hear almost no man in that warning sound. His stance is feral, hunched a bit in readiness.
"Persistent motherfuckers..." Jack snarls, voice low and guttural.
From the tangle of black, thorny metal wire, fallen masonry and haphazard boards forty yards behind you, four huge wolves appear, stalking with slow, eager motions. Their coats are all shades of gray, black, or dirty brown, but they are bigger than anything you've ever seen on TV or read about in a book. Much bigger than a man, closer to the size of a grizzly. Jaws slavering, lips pulled back to reveal rows of sharp fangs. Their eyes are malicious, glinting with incredible intelligence and murderous intent. Hackles rise when they see Jack, barking and braying - almost like they were jeering.
Jericho caught sight of them underneath one of Jack's spread arms as she dared to peer around him. Wolves...
Her hand shoots to her mouth to stifle her gasp and she slowly backs up a step. Her instincts were screaming at her to run, to flee, to find someplace safe and hide until they were gone. But she wouldn't leave. Fighting her natural reaction she looks around to find something, anything that could be of help. Or anywhere they could run.
The leader of the monstrous wolves pads forwards, snarling and snapping at the others, who stand their ground. He's the largest of the pack, fur a gray-white color, patches missing where scarred flesh is bared. His mane is spiky and matted, eyes reddish-yellow. Scars criss-cross his snout, and as he nears, you can smell singed fur and flesh even above the garbage. The creature barks and growls in a strange tongue that is both utterly alien and undeniably familiar. Again, you find yourself understanding it, like it was a language long-forgotten but swiftly returning to your mind.
"[Jack, Jack, Jack. Wrong place at the wrong time, as usual. We thought we might find you trying to hide with the rest of the garbage.]"
The monster looks at you hungrily, clicking its fangs, swiping them with a long black tongue.
"[Give us the bitch. We might just let you walk away alive.]"
"Like fucking HELL I will!" Jack shouts defiantly, standing his ground. "You're gonna have to kill me to get to her, you hear me Damien?"
"No." Jericho gasped. That couldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. Fighting against every instinct she forced her shaky legs to move from behind the protection of Jack's back and step closer to the wolves. An idea was forming in her head, one that would no doubt put her in serious danger even if it did work. But at least Jack would be safe, if only he got away.
"If...if you let Jack go then I'll go with you." she says quietly, her conviction outweighing her fear.
Jack looks back at you with utter horror.
Snarling laughter skitters from the alpha wolf's throat. He looks at you, tilting his head. The way his teeth are bared - it looks like a sadistic grin.
"[Smart little bitch. See that, Jack? She *wants* to come with us. She's ours by right anyway.]" The alpha leers at you. "[Come here.]"
"What the fuck are you doing, Jericho?" Jack hisses at you through sharp teeth. Disbelief, betrayal...sorrow...all these flash through his yellowed eyes.
Jericho glances back at him, her big blue eyes shimmering with moisture. There was a good chance that she'd never see him again after this. Still, he would be fine, and that made her happy.
"Just go, Jack." She whispered, forcing her mouth into a sad smile. "It'll be okay." She offered him a hidden wink as if she knew what she was doing. Right.
"I...I just can't like...leave you." Jack says softly, in his gruff, feral voice. He's heard that determination in your words. The fur and muscle, the harsh, angular cast to his face - it all melts away, and you just see him again. His eyes look pained. He's scared for you, you can tell. Jack's tried so hard to keep you safe, and now he's going to lose you. Then he catches that wink.
Trust. It's a hard thing to come by. You see something wrenching inside the man, this wolf that was ready to die to protect you.
"Alright. I hope you know what you're doing, girl." He pats your cheek, once, twice, with brotherly affection you've never had before. "Good luck."
He steps aside.
"[Fucking touching.]" the wolf Jack called Damien growls. He lets out a grunt of pain, and you hear the pop and snap of bones as a change overcomes the great predator. Within the span of a few moments, the fur and muscle steams away, disappearing into pores, flesh and frame shifting and shrinking into something more recognizable - a man, twenty-five or so, tall and imposing.
He stands maybe 6'4, well muscled and athletic, a hungry cast to his stance. Damien wears a loose-fitting gray hoodie adorned with a black, thorn-wreathed upside down cross that's split in half by an open zipper, revealing a skin-tight jet tank top underneath. Black slacks and boots, the kind you'd see at Neo-Nazi rallies or KKK meets, dangle with thin links of chains. His neck is crawling with tattoos of flames and death, wriggling bodies and torn angel wings, face kissed by white scars that look like they were made by red-hot whip lashes. The alpha's shaven, slicked-back hair is dyed platinum blonde, eyes yellow and as wolven as they were in his previous form. A tattoo of the number '32' is inked just below his right eye. He'd be handsome if it weren't for those scars - yet there's something evil and hateful in Damien's smile that leaves a deep part of you recoiling.
The dark-eyed Anshega alpha steps forwards towards you with a hand outstretched, that slick white-toothed grin sharp and promising.
Jack's act warmed her heart more than it had ever been. Even more than when Charity had offered her desert as a birthday present. Already close to tears, the moisture in Jericho's eyes burbled over her lashes creating twin trails down her pale cheeks, shining in the light of the crescent moon, taking solace in that if she did die then at least someone would be sad.
"I'll see you around, huh?" She said quietly, her sad smile turning wry. And then she faced the scarred older now-man, her expression hardening. "Not until Jack leaves."
"I said come here." Damien sneers, showing a bit of fang. There's a horrible gleam in his eye then as you face him, something that bespeaks of an unlimited capacity for cruelty, for sadism, and murder. You've seen it in a few of the other patients at Saint Mary's, the ones who were moved to the higher security levels. Sociopaths, psychopaths, twisted and truly evil. The difference here was that this one liked it. Reveled in it.
With that gleam he looms huge in your mind's eye, towering over you, gripping your heart with instinctual dread.
"I'm true to my word," Damien says. "Isn't that right, boys? You'll see that soon enough, bitch. I'm letting him go."
Jack bristles at the way he treats you, hands clenching to fists, digging in so hard they begin to bleed. Shaking his head, he turns to leave, breaking into an easy jog, looking back once, twice, as he makes his way through the choked courtyard of this nightmarish place.
Jericho lets out a long relieved sigh, but then tenses again at the weight of the action she was about to attempt. It was stupid and reckless and so unlike her, but it was the only way she could see to make sure Jack would get out safely.
She took one step closer, and then another, doubt shooting through her mind as to whether or not she should do it. Maybe she should just go with them and try to escape later. Another step. She was almost there.
She took one more step, staring Damien in his ugly eyes with shaky determination. And then she took a deep breath, as deep a one she could, and then she did the one thing she'd been trying not to do since this whole thing started. She screamed.
Your high-pitched scream echoes throughout the courtyard, past the festering garbage heaps, into the yawning windows of the tangled, gutted buildings and past the slopes of crumbling fallen masonry. It cuts through the air, shrill and sharp.
"You fucking stupid little cunt." Damien hisses. He lunges down with a snarl, fingers wrapping around your throat. The sinews in his right arm bulge under the hoodie as he lifts you up effortlessly, grip viselike as your bare feet dangle above the ground. You grip his wrist and hand, trying to pry it off, to give yourself just enough air to breathe. He leans in, eyes black, like twin pools of void, glinting nightmare stars. "I'm going to burn those brands off your pretty skin, and you're gonna wear out your FUCKING chords screaming tonight, I guarantee it."
"Dire Wolves. Kill Jack."
The remaining three of the alpha's pack howl and eagerly break into a stalking lope, dashing around the two of you, tongues lolling out and slavering with anticipation.
Music: Silent Hill 2, "Ashes and Ghost"
Jericho struggled underneath Damien's tight grip, her frail fingers clawing at his hand to try and get him to release his hold. Why wasn't it working? Where was Thrasher?
Her plan was a long shot, she'd known that from the start. The idea had clicked in her head like a lightbulb when she was looking around for some sort of escape, the twin sentences simultaneously ringing in her head:
‘Az said he's like 50 feet high or someshit but he hates hearing a mother scream.’
‘Mother...’
Of course she wasn't a real mother, but maybe in this place it didn't matter. In a world of spirits maybe that's what counted. It wasn't a very good plan, but it was something. And she had to wonder in what way the Thrasher hated the screaming. Was it the sound, or was it the action? Would he go for the one screaming, or the thing making her scream?
But it seemed that plan was out the window. Now she had to worry about getting away. She didn't have many options left to her. She doubted she had the strength to break free by herself, but there was one sensitive area on his body that, thanks to him lifting her, was very close to foot level. She pulled her leg back, putting all of her meager strength into this one action, and kicked.
Your leg strikes out, and you put everything into it. There's no doubt as to what's at stake. Damien's wolves are hunting Jack down. They'll kill him, all for trying to help you. That red hot heat, that horrible feeling of anger, of uncontrollable rage begins to filter up from your bones, from your gut, from your spine, crawling up your throat.
Damien laughs cruelly as he sees what you're trying to do, twisting a bit and holding you at arm's length, even though you connect with his stomach. "Got some fucking fight in you, huh?" he marvels, as his fingers grip your throat more tightly. Choking you. Cutting off your air. (Take 4 bashing)
You can't breathe. Your ears begin to whine and all you can hear is your blood rushing through your ears and Damien's chilling laughter. Your world begins to sway, to rumble. The air comes back as he drops you to the ground.
"...The fuck?"
You hear a low, rumbling moan, deep and guttural, like a sluggish roar that rattles the broken window panes and makes the ground tremble underfoot. The thorny black metallic vines that tangle and run through this entire apartment complex begin to slap against the ground, stiffening and squirming.
Behind you, you hear a deafening crash. Smashing out up from the ground but...it IS the ground, the walls, the masonry, the splintered wood, eyes a thousand shards of mirrored glass, trailing these writhing, thrashing thorn veins- it must be at least 50 feet high...Jack wasn't exaggerating. The thing is fucking horrible. Like a fractured, makeshift golem or scarecrow out of a child's nightmare.
The three wolves chasing Jack are scattered like dry leaves, thrown tumbling across the garbage heaps with frightened whines.
It moves with creaks and groans, turning its attention to the two of you.
It ROARS.
Jericho looked behind her to the beast known as Thrasher, and to the beast known as Damien. She needed to run, to flee. She knew she was one of them, she had the power to change, and right now she really needed to be one of them. A wolf.
She shut her eyes tight, trying to ignore the chaos around her and will herself to change. She needed to be big, she needed to be strong, and, most importantly, she needed to be fast. She imagined the fur bristling on her body, stretching, growing, she tried to find that special thing that she needed to change.
Unfortunately, she had no idea where it was. She opened her eyes and looked down at the hands keeping her body from the floor. They were the same as ever. Small, thin, pale. Crud. She looked to Thrasher and then to Damien, seeing what their plans were since hers had failed.
"You...you called him!" Damien shouts with hateful, accusatory breath, taking a few steps back from your fallen form. His boots grind into the ground as he tenses, waiting for the leviathan to strike. A massive hand comes swooping down like a hurricane wind, smashing into the ground where Damien had been moments before.
The gale force rushes over you, peppering you with debris. Shards of wood and concrete stab Jack's coat and slice your cheeks, but to your amazement, the minor cuts heal up almost instantly.
The alpha rises bleeding, clothes torn, nose dripping a thin trail of blood. He howls and his pack answers the bloodthirsty, savage cry. Throwing his arms open, Damien's back arches and he begins to grow to more than eight feet, a massive war machine of a wolf, somewhere between man and canine, all monster, sinews rippling under shaggy fur, claws the size of daggerblades, fangs easily able to rip a person from limb to limb. Damien's wolf-head looks down at you, eyes gleaming and promising death - promising remembrance, before he tilts upwards to glare at Thrasher. With a roar, the alpha leaps up nearly twenty feet, launching himself in the air at the behemoth's throat. The others of the pack have recovered, and attack, crawling and biting, like warrior ants on a spider.
Jericho realized that now would be a most excellent time to run, and run she did. Remembering which direction Jack ran she pushed herself from the dirty ground and ran full out, trying her best to find him even though she knew there was a very small chance that she could find him in this horrible labyrinth of twisting buildings and horrible creatures.
Somehow, miraculously, Jericho knew where he went. His unique scent, the scent that had been wafting from his jacket since he'd given it to her, was still in the air, faintly mixed in with the horrible stench of garbage. Drawing on that scent and sniffing like her life depended on it, and really it did, she continued to run as fast as she could.
Music: Jeremy Soule, Guild Wars: Nightfall "Desperate Flight"
The great monster that is Thrasher creaks and groans under the weight of its body as it swats at the Pure that attack it, clawing and scratching at its back, trying to pick them off like gnats. With another roar that sounds like a mechanical whine, the howl of a train, and the moan of twisted steel, it throws itself onto the ground, taking the wolves with it. You can hear their agonized cries, and they begin to run as Thrasher pursues with its shambling gait. They manage to only barely keep one step ahead of it as it smashes through the overhanging pipes and rails, raking through clotheslines that hang like wet hair. The ground shakes as you put as much distance between the courtyard and yourself as you can while still hunting after Jack.
You scramble up a ledge that's made from a fallen slab of concrete, perched atop crushed slats of rusty tin roofing, all fused together from age. A diminutive, lizardlike creature that looks like a collection of metal filings and washer scales puffs up a black trash bag bladder at its throat when you reach the top, chittering in alarm and scrambling away. Skidding down the other side and brushing past a tangle of black, thorny metal growths, you run headlong, blindly almost, into that scent you've been tracking-
Jack.
Music: Vampire: The Masquerade Bloodlines "Come Around (Unused)"
Your savior looks startled for a moment, and then wraps his arms around you, holding you close. "Jericho! You made it!" he grins.
"Urfarah's ghost, you're such a crazy girl, you know that?"
Her breath came out in a startled gasp as he brought her to him. She was startled by the sudden closeness and fraternity shown by the other wolf. But only at first. Quickly she slid her arms around his body, hugging him tight as a warm feeling spreading throughout her body. She smiled, pressing her face into his chest and reveling in the scent that had led her to him. They were okay. They were alive!
Jack holds you at arm's length, shaking his head in wonderment. "I don't believe it." he looks you over with concern, smirking gently as he does. "You ain't hurt, are you?"
Her grin stretched broad, Jericho shook her head enthusiastically, her almost-white hair rippling with the motion and her eyes practically shining with happiness. Honestly her body had never felt worse in her entire life, but at the moment she couldn't care less.
"I saw what you did back there with Thrasher. That was freakin' amazing." Jack lets you go and scratches the black scruff that peeks out from the back of his skullcap, relief showing in his relaxed stance. "You're gonna make one hell of an Ithaeur. I'm going to tell the others what you did - Kitt might take some convincing, but I think you'll make a great addition to our pack, I mean, if you want to join."
Jack gives a nod towards the looming, shattered shadow city. "C'mon. We made kind of a detour but we can take it easy now that Thrasher's after those assholes." He laughs, slamming his fist into his palm in excitement. "Damn! Never thought I'd see the day the Dire Wolves got their asses handed to 'em."
Part of a pack. That sounded nice. There was no part of this night that Jericho enjoyed. Nothing about what she'd gone through was at all appealing to her, but if it meant this closeness with Jack then it was a small price to pay. Because now she had something that she thought she would never have again, something that she'd thought died with her parents. As odd as it was, it felt like family.
Jericho didn't say anything. She rarely ever said anything. And even though she had a ton of questions she was just too exhausted to ask. She would follow Jack wherever he went, and that's all there was to it.
****
