Hellhounds: Of High Priority
#10 of Hellhounds
Hellhounds: Of High Priority
I had trouble sleeping that night. I didn't know why, but being in a room with just one of the other hounds was upsetting my subconscious, and I couldn't stop tossing and turning in my sleep. I wasn't having a nightmare. I was just...uncomfortable. There really was no other word to describe it. I wound up getting out of bed around one in the morning and headed outside. The fresh air made me feel better, and I was glad I wasn't locked away in the room like some prisoner. I didn't know what to do so I just headed around the back of the safe house and sat down against the wall in the dirt. I thought and sat and sat and thought, looking down at my feet and the ground and some of the dead trees surrounding the safe house. I was at a loss. I thought that Zepher was the one to worry about, but then I learn about the colonel and his mission where he was ordered to execute hundreds, maybe thousands of innocent furries and scaleys just because his commanders told him to and threw cash in his face. After hearing that from Denton, I was seriously having my doubts about him now, and whether or not he cared for any of us. Maybe he was just using us for his own personal gains so he could later toss us aside like an old pair of shoes-he was a mercenary after all, and that wouldn't be out of the ordinary. But it wasn't just the colonel and Zepher that I was concerned about, but Denton too. He was always so angry, and his I.Q. was lower than all of ours. I wasn't even sure if he was fit to be a mercenary-a soldier, yes, since all the higher-ups love the dim-witted, infuriated animals who never question their orders-but not a mercenary. Denton seemed like the kind of individual who would bash my head in with a steel bowl if he had no way of countering an argument I got into with him. It wasn't those three either-I was wary of all the Hellhounds. Zepher told me that Smart-ass used to be a serial rapist and killer, and Fenrir was allegedly a cannibal. Jakob's practice of bestiality wasn't something to fear, but I was sure that he had many other secrets to hide, secrets that could tear our friendship apart if I found out. I sighed heavily as I pondered all these thoughts and suddenly became side-tracked. I gazed out into the forest downhill, thinking about this planet and what "good" we did for it. There were no birds chirping, but I could hear crickets singing and saw a couple of fireflies fluttering around a couple of plants. There was an odd odor in the air-probably a distant forest fire, but nothing I couldn't ignore. I was sitting down in the middle of a planet that didn't know the definition of anything but war, and yet, everything was so peaceful that night.
Peace. That was the only thing I wanted for this planet, and yet it was the only word I couldn't understand. What is "peace"? Selling bibles door to door, hoping that God or whatever "holy" being up there saves you from eternal damnation? Donating hundreds of thousands-maybe even millions-of dollars to charity and praying it goes to good use, and not to some pompous, classy rich guy who can't decide which platinum-encrusted Rolex to buy? Is it adopting a small child from a poor, foreign country in hopes that it'll grow old and not hate you and your nation for turning its own into a desolate wasteland in the first place? I didn't know what that word meant at the time. In some ways, I still don't. We were running all around Lupus trying to solve the planet's problems for some fat-cats who probably didn't set foot on the battlefield-not Costodor; even he was a war veteran-for reasons we weren't supposed to know. My entire team has killed thousands or at least, was involved in killing thousands, and I knew more bodies would pile up before this conflict ended. And to make matters worse, I found out that two of my own teammates-and a possible third-can't be trusted. Did they even want peace like I did? Did they know what peace truly meant? I huffed and pressed my head against the wall, looking up at some of the moons in the sky. I kept wondering why werewolves like me and my team members never "transformed" like those humans always exaggerated in myths and terrible B movies. Maybe only our ancestors could do that, grow into some burly, hideous-looking monster who was bloodthirsty, go around running on all fours, howling at the moon and ravenously tearing any human being it saw apart. I always thought about doing that, just devolving into a feral state and running away from that hellhole, far away from the tanks and suicide bombers and furries with assault rifles shooting bullets past my head. But I couldn't do it. Everytime that thought crept into my subconscious, the only word that came to mind was "coward." I couldn't abandon all the furries and scaleys on this planet just to satisfy my own needs. At least, that's what I thought.
I wound up falling asleep outside. It wasn't even until I felt someone kick me in the stomach that I finally woke up. I grunted and groggily looked all around. I was still in the same place, but someone was standing in front of me. I could already tell by the bloated pudge that it was Fenrir, who shockingly wasn't eating anything at the time.
"Wake up, Sleepy Head."
I snorted and rubbed my forehead. It was bright and sunny outside, only a couple hours past dawn. The area still looked peaceful, although the smell of that forest fire still lingered in the air.
"What time is it?" I murmured.
"I don't know, time for you to get a watch?"
I didn't comment on his bad joke and simply sighed.
"Yeah, maybe," I said, standing up. "Colonel put us on another assignment already?"
"Nope. Well, yes, but it's a job for Jakob and Zepher only. He already sent them out to go meet that rat whose friends we rescued, Stollik."
"Oh. What's Riesling doing now?"
"Sleeping. Guess all of this work has finally caught up with him and he decided to rest for the day. Speaking of which, how come you were sleeping out here anyway?"
I couldn't tell Fenrir the truth. He wasn't as ruthless as the other hounds, but he can get a temper just like Denton can. Although with him, it's only in the battlefield, and when he's carrying a shotgun. I shrugged.
"Just felt like a change of scenery."
"Good thing you left when you did. Denton wouldn't stop passing gas in his sleep."
I chuckled and started to head back inside with Fenrir. "So we got the day off?"
"Unless Costodor comes by with some 'urgent' news, yes. Can't say the same for Jakob and Zepher though."
I never got to find out how their mission went that day, but at the time, I didn't care. I had a whole day to myself, and I intended to use it.
Jakob and Zepher were standing inside of a house that should've been demolished years ago. Instead, Stollik managed to turn the place into his own little hideout. It was similar to the one the Hellhounds slept in, except it was bigger-it had two floors instead of one-and it was much, much dirtier. Given the fact that Stollik was a sewer rat, however, that was to be expected. Jakob took a step forward and immediately spotted a fat, black cockroach scurry along the floor and disappear into a crack in the wall. The walls of the building all had holes or cracks in them, some so big Jakob could insert his fist into it. There was couch in the living room, but it was old and dirty and reeked of urine, for reasons Jakob already knew. The screen on the TV was smashed, and Jakob wondered why Stollik still had it in the first place. There wasn't much else Jakob spotted in the house that looked generally appealing: A couple of tables and lamps, a doorway that led into the kitchen, and the kitchen itself, which contained a few old pieces of food still left lying around. Shockingly, the house didn't smell as bad as the sewer did back in Sector Five. But then again, Jakob hadn't seen what Stollik's bathroom looked like, let alone smelled like.
"Nice place ya got here." he muttered.
"Fuck you too." countered Stollik.
"No, seriously, I love the stench of rotten food and rat piss and whatever the hell that stain is on the wall. And I've always wanted cockroaches as pets." he said, crushing one under his boot when it was centimeters away from touching it.
Dale shrugged. "There are other guys I can call if you don't want to do this hit. Although, given your colonel's...abrasiveness, I don't think he'll be too happy to hear that you missed this opportunity because you didn't respect your host's house."
"Relax, Dale. It's just colorful language-I didn't mean anything by it. Really."
Jakob shut his eyes and scratched his scalp, sighing. "Christ, now I'm sounding like Smart-ass. Look, what job do you have for us?"
Jakob stopped himself before adding, "I'm hoping it involves us giving you a bath."
"There's a guy by the name of uh," Dale headed over to one of the filing cabinets (Jakob found it uncanny how he had one of those in such a disgusting building) and opened up one of the drawers. He pulled out a pair of filthy sweat socks with holes in them and tossed them on the floor, before grabbing a photo, one that was not only clean, but in color.
"Right, this guy: Henry Schecter, Junior."
Jakob looked at the photo and knew who he was in only a few seconds. He was a dhole with red eyes and a mischievous grin on his face. There were a bunch of scandals surrounding both him and his father. Allegedly, they were both part of several insurance scams and had even gone as far as creating a fraud bank association. When Junior's father died, the bank suddenly went out of business, and it was more than a coincidence that his father left a will stating that his son gained several million dollars, most of which had been earned through the bank. A lot of journalists even suspected the bank as being nothing more than a front to launder all the money from the dholes' alleged illegal crimes, but it was never proven.
"What about him?"
"A few colleagues of mine did an investigation on Henry Schecter, Junior, and it turns out that the dhole is planning on selling nuclear codes to terrorists. We don't know who they are, but terrorists having the capability of launching nuclear missiles aren't a good thing."
"And you need us to take out Junior so this doesn't happen."
"Honestly, I don't give a shit if he's selling codes to terrorists; there are arms dealers all around Lupus who can harm this planet more than Junior can."
Jakob lifted an eyebrow. "Then why do you want us to assassinate him?"
"He and his father hate us sewer rats; apparently we slaughtered their ancestors or there's been a blood feud between our species. He goes around making public speeches accusing us rats of doing horrible things-raping cubs, murdering the elderly, the typical, exaggerated bullshit. I don't think he even has proof of us doing said crimes, but you know how the public is. They believe whatever they see, and follow furries like Junior without question. Besides, I think he's...you know..."
"Oh, one of those furries," muttered Jakob with disgust. "I see why you want him dead."
Dale nodded. "He'll be appearing in Mersel City to make a speech to the public about the atrocities of the war and how he's donating money to help end it or some shit like that. And before you ask, I already know of a way for you to get in."
"How?"
Stollik dug into another drawer in the filing cabinet and pulled out two large see-through plastic bags containing two identical uniforms. Unlike the photo, they were a bit dirty, and smelled musky. He tossed both bags over to Jakob, who disregarded the odd odor.
"Lucky for you guys, my inside rat has stolen a couple of uniforms that the militia wears, so while you're in town, you can just say that you're additional security and take position in one of the buildings."
Jakob nodded in approval. "Smart guy. If you know how, where, and when to take out your target, why don't you take him out yourself?"
The rodent scoffed. "What's the public gonna think when they find out a sewer rat, the species that Henry Schecter, Junior and his father say are so evil, finally does do something that proves their claims? Besides, most of the militia consists of wolves; you guy will blend in much easier than I will."
"Okay. We'll notify you when he's dead. Let's get going, Zepher!"
Dale stared at Zepher and scratched his head. He hadn't said a word since he entered the premises and was leaning against the wall the entire time.
"What's up with your friend? Was his tongue ripped out?"
Zepher flicked his eyes at Dale and growled without opening his mouth. And yet, it was intimidating enough to make the rat back away.
"He doesn't talk much. But that's normal."
Stollik was still a bit chary of the burly werewolf, but he figured he wasn't such a bad guy as long as he didn't get on his angry side.
"If you say so. Good luck guys!"
Getting into the perimeter wasn't hard for either one of them. Mersel City was similar to Sector Five: It was an inviting city and even contained a few tourist attractions, but there was militia all over the place. As soon as they strapped on their uniform, the other canid militants just let them walk right by without folly. A couple of them didn't recognize Zepher or Jakob and asked who they were, but all Jake had to do was say something like, "We just got transferred here from a different squadron. Our commander believes that Schecter may be at risk during his speech today. You know how it is, soldier. Can't be too careful." The soldier who spoke to Jakob would just nod and let them continue. The mercenaries entered one of the skyscrapers overlooking the podium across the street. There was no buildings in-between them or their targets, just a gargantuan crowd of spectators who gathered around to see the corrupt politician deliver his speech. Unfortunately, the militia knew that the building would likely be the best place for a sniper to attack, and security in the area had been doubled. But Dale's uniforms came in handy, and no one questioned who Zepher or Jakob were. And if that wasn't good enough, the militia had snipers of their own monitoring the meet, so even if someone saw Jakob aiming out the window, they would think nothing of it. He just had to make sure no one saw him fire off the actual shot.
Jakob was armed with the same rifle the militants were using: A customized Springfield M1A rifle with a suppressor. Personally, he preferred his trusty Dragunov, but if the militia noticed he had a different sniper rifle, they would ask questions and their cover could be blown. He took position near a broken, dusty window that gave him a clear view of the podium and got down on one knee so he could look through the scope. As Jakob was setting up, Zepher patrolled around the corridor they were in, making sure no one was patrolling the area. When he realized the floor was clear, Zepher returned to Jakob, assisting him as his spotter.
"Well, we're in luck today. Wind's traveling at less than five miles an hour, and the podium's only 700 yards away. Shouldn't be too hard for someone with your skills, Jake."
"Where's the podium's location?"
"Between your 12:00 and 11:00."
Jakob adjusted position and found the podium. A couple of security guards were already standing on stage, studying the crowd for anything out of the ordinary. The werewolf sighed.
"I got it. Now all we have to do is wait."
Zepher nodded and continued to survey the area, making sure none of the militia noticed anything suspicious. A couple of them spotted Zepher and Jakob taking position near the window, but once they saw their uniforms, they turned away to find something of greater interest. Zepher looked down at his grey and dark blue camouflaged pants and shirt and scratched himself. He was wearing a thick Kevlar vest above it all, black gloves, and a black helmet with two holes in it for his pointy ears to go through. Jakob was wearing the same. It wasn't until after he realized the uniform was itchy and very easy to get hot in that he probably would be better off in his casual clothes that were stored at the safe house. But he didn't complain, like Smart-ass would, and merely grumbled to himself as he scratched his neck.
"While we're waiting, perhaps we could chat for a little bit."
Jakob almost chuckled. "That's funny; I thought you weren't the social type?"
"He who has no voice has plenty to say."
"Meaning what?"
"I know a lot more than you or the other hounds could ever comprehend. You have to change, Jakob."
Jakob sighed heavily. Zepher finally wanted to talk to him about something private, and it seemed like he was speaking in codes, expecting him to know what he was implying.
"Change how, Zepher?"
"You and all the other hounds have a lot to learn if you ever want to survive this war and grow old and die happy. I know you don't understand me now, but in due time, you'll finally see what I mean. Of course, if you don't change soon, then I fear that you, and quite possibly, many others, will be doomed."
"Where's all this coming from, Zepher? Why are you even bringing this up now of all times?"
"I'm trying to say you should stop fucking wild animals to fuel your libido, Jakob."
Jakob's eyes grew wide and he took his finger off the trigger and looked at Zepher.
"How did you even know that?!"
"The target's here."
Jakob was still distracted, but eventually he looked through his scope again and studied the street in front of the podium. Three white stretch limousines, accompanied by a few escort vehicles and local policefurs on motorbikes, parked next to the stage. Henry Schecter, Junior got out of the second limo and greeted the crowd by waving and smiling mischievously, like he did in the photo. He was wearing a navy blue linen suit with a white dress shirt underneath and leather shoes to match his attire. Everyone around him applauded or began to take photos of him with their cameras, ready to plaster his face all over the news. The sniper got a lock on the dhole, who was busy walking up the stage, ready to stand in front of the podium so he could deliver his speech. Jakob was aiming for his head; he couldn't take any chances by hitting him in the chest. There were more bodyguards on the podium, but none of them were shielding Junior himself. All he had to do now was squeeze the trigger.
"You mind explaining to me how you know that I have sex with feral animals?"
"I told you, you have to change. You can't be lazy anymore, Jakob. You have to seize every opportunity when you see them. You have to-"
"Zepher, please, I'm trying to assassinate someone here." said Jakob, as though Zepher was interrupting his phone call.
Zepher ignored him. "You can't depend on everyone else, Jakob. In the end, only you can save yourself, not your friends or the animals you had sex with or the drugs you've injected into your veins,"
Jakob's eyes grew wide again. Now he was really getting nervous. It was one thing to know about his acts of bestiality, but how did he know about his past drug addictions? Not even his own brother knew he was addicted to heroin! Jakob shook his head, ignoring Zepher's words. He had a job to do, and something told him that Zepher was just trying to scare him as some sick joke.
"I'm fuckin' fine, Zepher. I don't need to change. If anything, I think you're the one who needs help. No offense, but someone shouldn't take so much pleasure in taking another being's life. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you get off to it."
Jakob's heart was still pounding, but he remained firm. He wasn't gonna be bullied by Zepher's words, even if they did freak him out. The burly Lycan just smiled and chuckled to himself.
"Very well then, I suppose it's better you learn on your own anyway."
"Yeah. Now if you would be so kind as to stop talking so you don't mess up my shot that would be great."
Zepher respected the sniper's wish and discontinued his speech. He'll learn, in due time, thought Zepher. The bulky werewolf resumed his spotting duties, checking to make sure the wind wasn't blowing too fast and that the dhole wasn't changing position. He seemed to remain still, occasionally raising a fist or paw in the air, but nothing more. Jakob sighed as he zoomed in on his forehead, preparing to shoot him in-between the eyes. Zepher looked through his spotting scope again. The dhole was a sitting duck.
"Take him."
Jakob didn't hesitate for even a split second. He fired one bullet from his rifle and hit the politician in the forehead while he was in the middle of a sentence. His body fell backwards immediately after a crimson vapor sprayed all over the bodyguard standing northeast of him. The civilians on the ground began to scream and run for cover, believing that terrorists had just attacked. The news teams were alerting reporting that the dhole had been shot and they didn't know if he was alive or not. While half of Junior's bodyguards took out their guns or began to search for a sniper in the buildings, another rushed over to Junior and looked down at his body. There was no point in checking his vitals. Even if the bullet hadn't scrambled his brains, he was losing too much blood. A paramedic wouldn't have been able to help him at all. He was dead. Zepher and Jakob knew they only had seconds left before the militia and bodyguards began to storm the building. They were in uniform, but it would only be a matter of time before someone put the pieces together. Jakob grabbed the casing that had dropped on the floor and shoved it down his pocket before he sprinted through the corridor with Zepher. He took the rifle with him too-no point in leaving the murder weapon behind. The duo came across multiple militants who were running up or down the stairs, chattering on their radios about the politician's assassination. Most of the militia was in a panic and didn't take the time to get a clear look at Jakob or Zepher's faces. They were too busy trying to catch the sniper before he got away. But one soldier spotted the two running downstairs and stopped them.
"Hey! Where the hell are you soldiers goin'?! Henry Schecter-"
"We know, we know! We think we found the shooter making his escape out on the street-we're following him now!"
"Fine, show me where you found him and I can send-"
"Can't! His spotter's still in the building! We'll handle the shooter-you and the others find his spotter!"
"Roger that!"
Jakob and Zepher resumed sprinting downstairs. The sniper had to force himself to keep a straight face, surprised that he managed to think up a lie like that at the very last second. It didn't take long before the two mercenaries arrived at the back entrance of the building. Unfortunately, it also didn't take long before the same soldier who spoke to Jakob found something out of the ordinary. If the sniper was outside, on the street, how did he get such a clean shot off at Henry Schecter, Junior? Someone in the crowd could've been blocking his vantage point or would've seen him if they turned around. The streets were filled to the brim with pedestrians, some of whom were eight feet tall or more. Better yet, if that soldier spotted the sniper, why didn't he just kill him or shoot him in the leg? The militia in Mersel City rarely ever took prisoners, and whenever they did, they wound up killing them anyway after a brutal interrogation. No professional sniper would kill a politician like Junior from such a sloppy, exposed position. Unless...
"Son of a bitch, I walked right past them!" shouted the soldier.
"What?"
"Order everyone to regroup at the back of the building! Now!" he cried.
But by the time they got outside, Jakob and Zepher were long gone, their stolen uniforms left in a trash can.