Apex Predator Read online

  WINSTON PUBLISHING

  APEX PREDATOR

  Copyright © 2016 by S.M. Douglas.

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For information address Winston Publishing,

  P.O. Box 2326, Brighton, MI 48116.

  ISBN 978-0-9976955-1-9

  For my loving family, who spoil me with their tolerance of my varied interests

  Prologue

  There is a wild part of Europe that straddles the border between East and West. It is hemmed in by dark forests, vast swamps, and jagged mountains. Violent death has long plagued its people, particularly those living in a remote Carpathian valley surrounding the ancient town of Dibrovno.

  The valley has been populated since the time of the Scythians. Nevertheless, the town’s history is shrouded in fearful superstition. Huns, Lithuanians, Poles, Russians, Tatars, and others have looted, plundered, and killed their way into Dibrovno; but no would be conqueror ever stays. Even the murderous Nazi and Soviet war machines swept around Dibrovno as quickly as possible, their legions refusing to seize and fortify what geography and military logic otherwise dictated was an impregnable bastion.

  The people who live in and around Dibrovno know why history passes them by. They know why the tour buses never visit the town’s well-maintained castle. They also know why visitors are warned not to linger, lest unspeakable things happen. Some laugh off or ignore those warnings. When they subsequently vanish, rumors as to their fate become grist to the kind of folklore that almost never spills out into the larger world.

  Until now.

  Chapter 1

  October 2016 – Detroit’s Western Suburbs

  William Brody stood in the book shelf lined front room, staring outside. The gray sky unloaded in fat pounding drops, the booming echo of thunder reaching through the home’s rattling picture window.

  Two months ago he got what he asked for.

  No, begged for.

  He got the chance to do something big, something meaningful.

  Did they ever give it to him. At least that was what he was made to believe when his boss was ladling heaping bellyfuls of it onto his plate. However, it wasn’t what it seemed. Not much in life ever is, and it took him longer than most to figure that out. Luckily, one of the side effects of being hunted by a werewolf is that it tends to focus the mind.

  He created his own assignment. One not built on a lie. One he believed could give him what he had sought his entire adult life. Nevertheless, they could never find out, though he was beyond caring about their hypocritical rules. Besides, the juicy possibility of a public flagellation was not posted anywhere near the top of his fuck-me-I’m-screwed list of the month.

  Then again, upon realizing how insecure his place on the food chain had become embracing reality was not as confining as one would think. It opened up all sorts of possibilities. That is provided one attains a certain comfort with moral relativism applied writ large, and little in life greases that slippery slope like the threat of death.

  There would be a price to pay for his decision.

  He had not been willing to pay it before.

  Now he was ready, even if there was a monster waiting at the end of it.

  Chapter 2

  August 2016 – Detroit, Michigan

  The BMW roared out of the underground parking garage. Thousands of LED light tubes marched across the sixteen story casino rising above. They cast shimmering blues, reds, and greens across the fast moving car’s crisp white exterior. The driver raced past a highway entrance ramp, swerving onto a side street swathed in shadows. Dub-step thumped from the speakers. The thrumming bass drowned out the sound of squealing tires ripping through one turn after another.

  A doughy middle aged man squirmed in the passenger seat. An empty rocks glass dangled from his tingling fingers as he leered at the voluptuous driver’s suicide-girl-hair, ivory skin, and plum-red lipstick. She glanced over as if reading his mind, eyes dancing with a wicked energy. The man reflexively grabbed at the bulge in his trim slacks, his lust volcanic. Her boyfriend passed out in the back seat long since forgotten. The car slewed even more violently around the next corner, braking to a screeching stop, driver side door swinging open.

  “C’mon,” The woman purred, face shining with sweat and need as she glided into the night.

  The man staggered in his haste to follow, his head spinning. She took his hand and pulled him into an empty field overgrown with knee high weeds. Plastic bags and battered beer cans gleamed in the moonlight, marking their path. An abandoned house loomed to their right. A tremor tickled up the man’s spine. He looked back at the pristinely polished sedan, engine running, high beams illuminating ghostly steam rising from a manhole cover in the otherwise deserted street—

  The woman’s vice-like grip jerked his wandering head around.

  They neared the middle of the vacant lot, his hand falling from hers. He took a few more steps and then stumbled, falling behind the woman as he cast repeated glances over his shoulder. The car’s speakers pumped out a frenetic beat, jangling the man’s nerves.

  He shivered, for the first time feeling fear. He faced the car’s beckoning safety, staring at the open rear door, his alcohol dulled mind not quite comprehending what it implied - nor understanding the tingling warmth rippling through his body, prodding him to do something. He opened his mouth, ready to suggest—

  A rumbling growl erupted from behind him.

  Every hair on the man’s body stiffened. The deep inhuman noise resonated through his chest, sounding like nothing he had ever heard in his life. He trembled, standing rooted in frozen horror for what seemed like forever.

  The guttural breathing over the man’s shoulder not once lessened in its homicidal intensity.

  The man swallowed. Tongue thick.

  He pivoted, feet shuffling in quicksand, craning his head up in disbelieving shock.

  Pitiless yellow eyes swiveled down, rows of razor sharp teeth flashing from the elongated muzzle of what looked like the biggest wolf he had ever seen.

  But wolves don’t stand upright.

  The creature growled.

  The man’s jugular vein throbbed under his starched shirt collar, his brain scarcely comprehending the signals racing to it from his palpitating optic nerves. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. After a moment a whine escaped his lips. A whine that turned into a moan at the realization that the growl’s coming from this thing sounded as much human as animal.

  It snarled in response, an angry, vicious sound punctuated by black lips skinning back from fangs the size of knives.

  The man’s bladder emptied in a hot streaming burst down his pant leg, awakening in him a surge of energy. His Italian calfskin wingtips skidded in the trash strewn grass, stumbling steps backward leaving him agonizingly close to the creature until the double leather soles finally caught traction. He twisted into a flat out sprint.

  The car. If I can just get to the car.

  The man’s breath came in ragged gasps; adrenaline charged legs propelling him faster than he thought possible toward the beckoning car door, his face brightening with hope—

  Something slammed into the man’s side. The brutal impact spun him to the ground, pain radiating from his shattered hip. Gasping, he trailed one hand down, following a jagged tear in his flesh to find something slimy and meaty bulging out. The man levered himself up, twisting to see a rope of intestine pulsing in the night
air. He screamed in mindless terror—

  A clawed hand grasped the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe. The corded arm rose with the smooth strength of a pneumatically controlled steel lever, lifting the man up, body dangling, feet kicking weakly against the creature’s knees.

  The man floated on the edge of reality, perceiving a silvery full moon slipping free of the clouds. He felt his shirt torn away. Needle sharp pain lanced through his midsection as his organs spilled from his freshly opened abdominal cavity. Consciousness slipped into darkness, the jaws of something that shouldn’t have been possible slicing into his softly palpitating throat.

  Bestial grunting and crunching filled the air.

  It was over in minutes.

  Two yipping shadows streaked into the night.

  Silence once more fell over the empty lot.

  Within an hour the blood had congealed into a gelatinous puddle. Scraps of torn clothing once worth more than the idling BMW blanketed the matted grass. The occasional cloud scudded across the moon hovering above what had once been the country’s greatest industrial city.

  Sometime later a coyote appeared.

  The swirling wind shifted.

  The salivating coyote whimpered, staring longingly at the corpse. However, the breeze’s threatening message sent her scampering away.

  Nothing else approached the kill.

  Hours passed.

  The night faded from black to charcoal gray.

  A naked man and woman emerged from an abandoned house. They jumped into the undisturbed vehicle as dawn broke in bright streamers of orange and yellow.

  The BMW sped off into the lingering darkness to the West.

  Chapter 3

  August 2016 – The sky over Detroit, Michigan

  “That’s not exactly light reading.”

  Brody swiveled toward his seatmate; a well-dressed business-woman.

  “How do civilizations fail?” The woman paraphrased the title of his book, the newspaper in her face since their flight departed from Washington D.C. had finally dropped away from her chest.

  “Most have certain things in common,” He said. She had shoulder length brown hair, and a tired demeanor that implied too many years of travel. Then again, her eyes sparkled with an inquisitiveness that he found attractive.

  “Namely?” She let the crinkling newspaper slide into her lap.

  A chill coursed through Brody. Something about the way she held her head. He pressed his lips tight in response, pushing back the painful memories and reverting to the guarded overly formal manner of speech he had adopted of late when speaking with the opposite sex. “The majority cedes limited power to a minority who directs society. In return, the masses enjoy basic comforts and happiness.”

  “So how does it get messed up?”

  “The minority abuses its privilege and ignores the brewing hatreds and resentments until too late. Or they crack down hard, and fail miserably.”

  “Where do we fit in?”

  “I haven’t…ummm...read that far.”

  She sat back, smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose at not only his inability to let go of his past but his cluelessness in the face of a question that in one way or another seemed to be defining the wreckage that was his career. Then again, nothing of late came easy for Special Agent William Brody, who a few weeks earlier celebrated his tenth and potentially last year in the FBI.

  A newspaper rustled to his left. She had taken his silence as license to return to her perusal of current events. He winced at the screaming headline: “CEO of America’s Largest Bank Negotiating New Multi-Billion Dollar Settlement with Feds over Forged Mortgage Documents.”

  “Can you believe this?” She said.

  Brody’s stomach knotted up. She must have caught him looking.

  “Bankers are using fake paperwork to foreclose on homeowners, and nobody gets pinched.” She lowered the paper’s top corner, her sharp dark eyes settling on his, “Meanwhile, I’m busting my ass as a drug rep. And guess what? If I get even one DUI, my career is over.”

  He nodded his head sympathetically; too embarrassed to tell her what he did for a living.

  She grunted and disappeared behind her newspaper.

  Brody slumped as he turned back to the window. They had dipped below the billowy clouds breaking up under the mid-morning sun. Detroit smoldered below, a crumbling hole in a ring of decaying suburbs. The aircraft banked onto its final flight path west of the sprawling city. Countless streets radiated from Telegraph Road’s north-south expanse like giant spokes linking the various stages of his life. Nearly forty years ago his family had moved from Dearborn to an exurban township once known as Michigan’s corn capital - now overrun with subdivisions sprouting like weeds.

  He sat back, absorbing the uneasy jolt when the big wheels skidded down. The engines roared as the pilot braked the aircraft. Meanwhile, Brody contemplated a life of failure weighing on him with the same crushing force that had buried Detroit’s beleaguered residents.

  Chapter 4

  September 1969 – New York City, New York

  “Thanks for letting us get out for the evening.” She smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

  Jimmy Donnelly beamed at his mother. The teenager’s grin faded however when a plaintive whine from inside the townhouse carried to the front door.

  His mom stiffened.

  “Jimmy’s got this,” His father said, putting an arm around her.

  One year ago Jimmy’s parents had pulled him away from his baseball card collection to deliver the earth-shattering news that he would have a brother. He distinctly remembered the wispy sound made by his treasured Tom Seaver card as it floated to the floor from his trembling hand. In the ensuing weeks, his mother’s swelling belly had loomed like a lengthening sword of Damocles. Then, almost three months ago baby Andrew arrived. From that moment on Jimmy’s life had been an absolute hell. He despised every minute. Each gooey diaper; each delicately tilted bottle of milk perched between his brother’s sucking lips; and the endlessly repeated stories that left him wanting to blow his brains out.

  “Don’t forget to change Andrew’s diaper,” Jimmy’s mom said, the turquoise, lime green, and white swirls of her side pleated dress perfectly complementing her husband’s striped mock turtleneck. “That butt rash of his isn’t going away.”

  “Yes, mom,” Jimmy said, waving goodbye as his parents bounced down the concrete front steps. Clicking the lock shut on the door he eyed the new 23-inch solid-state TV resting in its thick walnut cabinet. After several seconds, he reluctantly tore his gaze away and tiptoed up the stairs to peek into the nursery. Mercifully, Andrew had fallen back asleep. His chest rose and fell ever so slightly, tufts of wispy hair poking this way and that on his round head.

  Jimmy stared. It was several moments before he noticed his clenched jaw and balled up fists. Exhaling, he forced himself to relax and backed away from the bedroom. He slipped down the stairs and curled up on the family room’s olive green couch. The Mod Squad’s latest episode was reaching its climax, his brother quickly forgotten.

  Then it drifted down the stairs, a squeak almost inaudible.

  The yap came next, questioning, searching to see if his call for help had been heard.

  Jimmy grated his teeth, standing to crank the TV volume louder, his shoulders tensing.

  Not thirty seconds later came the first yell, followed by a warbling murmur that sounded like a cat.

  Jimmy slammed his fist into the couch and marched upstairs. He placed his palm on the bedroom door, easing it open. Through the crib’s white slats he spied his brother’s pudgy face, eyes open, lower lip quivering. Jimmy cursed. Andrew broke into a wailing call of need. The crying crested like breakers buffeting his parent’s sail boat, before sliding into a trough of whimpers only to race back up the
next wave into another high-pitched yowl louder than the last.

  Jimmy rolled his eyes at first but then paused. Something about the crying sounded different; louder, more insistent. His lips curled up in a sneer.

  Andrew’s loudest scream cut off, and he began choking uncontrollably.

  A residual feeling of nervous responsibility shot through Jimmy. Not so much fear that his brother was genuinely hurt, but terror at what his parents would do if his brother was injured on his watch. Panicking, he rushed forward, but feeling put off, almost jilted when the baby’s response fell somewhat short of his usual cooing, grinning, and delightfully wringing hands. Had Jimmy glanced up he would have known why. In the wall mounted mirror glimmered Jimmy’s eerie reflection; sharp overdeveloped teeth protruded from lips peeled back from his gums.

  Jimmy didn’t notice his appearance. Even if he had he wouldn’t have cared. He delighted in who he was and what he was becoming. Now, however, he frowned as he focused in on the distended diaper filled with yellow stringy shit pooling up around his brother’s marble sized balls. Jimmy’s anger pushed harder, but before he hit his tipping point the spell that had come over him broke like a fever.

  Jimmy felt his lips slide back down over his teeth. His fists opened, the tension draining from his joints. He took a deep breath and began to wipe clean his cooing little brother, being careful to avoid inflaming the reddened space between Andrew’s butt cheeks.

  Nonetheless, as Jimmy wrested control over the darkness, Andrew’s tiny penis stiffened. Jimmy stepped back; his jaw clenched in disgust. Raw emotion boiled over, his pupils dialing down into pinpricks of laser-like anger as he caught sight of a cracked blister marking the epicenter of his brother’s raging diaper rash. Hands trembling, he snatched up the rag; savagely pressing it into the baby’s inflamed bottom.

  A high-pitched scream cut through the darkening room.