The phone rang.
He wanted to shoot it, but he could barely move. Everywhere hurt, down to his very bones. He turned over in bed, and knocked the reciever into his hand. “Hello,” he said weakly.
An electronic voice said, “You have abandoned YOUR post on…MONDAY, JUly sixteenth. In punishment you are assigned to PENAL PATROL in NERVA in one hour. Report to COMMANDER CASWELL for further instructions. Have a nice day.”
An hour. He had an hour to move. He rummaged in his pack for a pain serum. After injecting it, he felt a hundred times better. Then it registered: Penal patrol. He’d lost his squad.
“Dammit, dammit,” he hissed, getting into his uniform. He pulled the tunic on without a problem, and glanced at his shoulder. It didn’t hurt. In fact, it didn’t look like anything had happened to it at all. There was a scar where the stitches and the bite marks were, but otherwise, it seemed good as new.
He rolled his shoulder as he retrieved a gun from the armory. No pain. No nothing. The pain from the morning was fading into a dull ache. He reported to roll call five minutes early and got the front row.
After roll, they wall had to do calesthenics, and take a jog around the warehouse. Byron was up for that – he usually jogged in the mornings even when off-duty. He had skipped breakfast, however, thinking they would feed him. They didn’t.
They assigned him a southwest corner of Nerva, where he would check in every three hours with the local robotic commander there. His route would have him pass the area every hour. If he was late, he was considered indigent and would face disciplinary action.
He did his route like clockwork, until he saw the Longbow. Four of them to one of him, he froze in place. Longbow looked at him, he looked at them. The Longbow looked at each other, and one of the middle ones smiled. He started to unsling his gun.
Byron was faster, shooting from the hip, and then running. He felt the bullet whiz by him and hit the brick wall he dove behind. “Son of a bitch, he got me!” one of the Longbow yelled, and Byron chuckled. He didn’t think Longbow swore.
Byron followed along the brick wall as the Longbow probably fanned out against his escape. His blood was pumping in his ears. The only way to go was up. He looked up and grabbed a hold of the fire escape. Its rusted bolts let go with a crash, and he fell on his derrier. Grabbing his gun, he rolled into some bushes as Longbow shot at him.
“Ow, dammit!” yelled another one.
“Sorry, Joe, I didn’t know you were in the line of fire.”
“I’m right across from you, idiot! What do you think? How bad is it?”
“A scratch,” said another voice. “C’mon, there’s three of us, we can take one stupid spider.”
“Where did he go?” said Joe’s voice.
“In those bushes,” said the other one Joe had spoken to.
“Flush him out,” said the cold voice.
Fear made him go cold. They were going to fire into the bushes, and he would be dead. He would be dead! No, they weren’t going to kill him!
The fear turned to anger, which turned to fury. He tore off his helmet, feeling the fever come on him again. His bones broke, as he heard them reload. He was already moving, half man, half wolf, still changing, as he barrelled into one of them.
They wore hardly any armor, so he could easily tear through the spandex at the man’s throat. Meanwhile there were shots – someone was shooting at him, irregardless of the friendly that he was eating. The bullets hit him. He felt them go in and hit bone, but that only enraged him further.
“Silver bullets!” roared one of them, but Byron turned on him, tackling him also.
“I don’t have any!” yelled Joe. The one who had yelled for silver bullets yelled for nothing anymore.
Byron finally turned to Joe. Joe was already bleeding from a wound in his side, and Byron could smell the blood. Injured prey, he thought. Easy to take down.
“No!” screamed Joe as Byron bit at his hamstrings, taking him down and finishing him off.
And after that, seeing three bleeding Longbow at his feet, he ran.