AZ451

 “How many times are we going to go over this?”

“How many times are we going to go over this, SIR”, barked the Staff Sgt.

The young constable shifted uncomfortably on the hard, wooden chair and kept his eyes on his hands folded on the table in front of him. He knew if he looked up the Staff Sgt. would see the anger in his eyes and maybe even be able to tell how much his young protégé despised him.

“What I mean, SIR, is that I’ve told you what happened at least 10 times. There is nothing else I can tell you,” responded the Constable wearily. They had been going at this for five hours.

The Staff Sgt. looked at Constable Sims with disdain. He hadn’t liked the look of this Constable the first time he saw him walk in from the Academy. The kid just looked like trouble, and Staff Sgt. Walker knew what trouble looked like. He had seen guys like this before…cocky, smart-ass, know-it-alls who thought that just because they got great grades at the Academy that they know all there is to know about policing.

“You’re going to tell me what happened until I have a report that doesn’t read like a campfire ghost story. I shouldn’t even have to be interviewing you right now. But your report is shit and I can’t allow it to be entered into record.” retorted Walker, his voice starting to become raspy after the pack of cigarettes he had knocked back since the interrogation started.

Sims looked up at the clock. Every time the second hand ticked by it made a loud audible clicking noise that was very unnerving. He wondered if these clocks were made specifically to do this for police interrogation rooms. It was 1 a.m. and it seemed as though the clicks were getting even louder. His head was pounding from missing dinner and the thick dark sludge that the office secretary liked to call coffee was making his stomach hurt.

Walker banged his large, calloused hands on the table in front of Sims face. Sims jumped and blinked.

“How does a cop get so many callouses on his hands?” asked Sims.

“What?” Walker blinked and stepped back. “What the hell are you rambling about? Concentrate, Constable! Back to the subject!” replied Walker.

“Ok,” said Sims, “one more time. But this is the last time. I won’t repeat it again.”

“At 13:10 this afternoon, November 23, I was on patrol on Forestry Rd. when I noticed an abandoned red, two-door Chevy pick-up truck, licence BITEME, with the driver’s door ajar.  I pulled up and stopped behind the truck and approached the driver’s side. The bed of the truck was empty except for a few busted up skids. There was no one in the truck. The keys were still in the ignition and there was a lunchbox on the passenger seat.

I walked around to the front of the vehicle and noticed that there was blood and matted fur on the grill.  The dent was really deep. The hood of the truck had caved in but the windshield was intact; it did not look as if he had hit a moose. I surmised that the driver had hit an animal which had then run off into the woods. It made sense that the driver may have been armed with a rifle and followed the animal to put it down.

I walked back to my cruiser and requested an owner ID for the truck.  The name came back as Mr. Cromwell, the Red Lake mechanic. He has a shop on Birks Dr. I called in my location and situation before going back to the truck to remove the keys, shut the door, and secure the truck.  I was concerned for the safety of Mr. Cromwell since he’s 72 yrs old and it was -18 with the wind chill.  I decided to follow his tracks in the snow. It looked as though whatever he had hit must have been significantly injured because there was quite a bit of blood and matted fur along the path as well.  It also looked as though whatever it was had been dragging one leg.

I walked for approximately 1.2 km when the tracks suddenly stopped. Both set of tracks and the blood trail just ended. There was no sign of a struggle and no sign that either the injured animal or Mr. Cromwell had walked off in a different direction. They had not back-tracked or else I would have seen them. There was no point in going further without a trail so I returned to my cruiser and decided to come back to the station to get a search party together.  I returned to the station at 15:30.”

“Sir, I don’t understand why this report is unacceptable. It contains all the facts.”

Walker looked at Sims, narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to him while keeping his hands off the table. “It’s unacceptable,” responded Walker as though he were speaking to a three year old, “because tracks don’t just end. They may end if there is a body or a carcass there, or if there is a stream, or if there were rocks and no prints. But tracks in snow don’t just END.” Walker sat back and ran his right hand through his thick mane of white hair while he shut his eyes and sighed.

Sims remained quiet. He had nothing more to say. He had offered to escort the Staff Sgt. to the site but the Staff Sgt. had said he had more important things to do than indulge newbies in their pranks. Walker was familiar with new recruits who would get bored or just cabin fever during their first winter in Red Lake. They either purposely played pranks on each other or began to imagine the most unusual experiences.

Walker was tired too. This little exercise with Sims would have ended a lot sooner if not for the fact that not only was Cromwell still missing but the two men who had volunteered to search for him had also gone missing. Darkness fell early in Red Lake in the winter so the men only had an hour and a half to do a quick search of the perimeter. They were experienced rangers who happened to still be in town after arriving to provide winter survival training to the three new recruits who had arrived in Red Lake six months before. Walker was beginning to regret not accepting Sims’ invitation to visit the site immediately. He was wondering if it was time for a transfer.  Complacency was a very dangerous thing for a cop to experience but becoming skeptical of the facts just because they didn’t make immediate sense was even more dangerous.

“Ok, Sims. We’re done here tonight. Go home and get some sleep. Be back here by 08:00 tomorrow.”

The constable slowly rose while keeping his eyes on the Staff Sgt. He had heard stories about how new recruits could never quite be sure what other officers may do to keep the recruits vigilant. For all he knew, this could be a test and the Staff Sgt. was waiting for him to volunteer to stay until the disappearances were resolved.

Walker sensed the constable’s trepidation and chuckled. It felt good to know he still had the power to keep his officers on their toes. He could see Sims stop and look at him with a suspicious sideways glance.

“And Sims…I have calloused hands because I chop my own firewood. I don’t buy it from the old lady on the shore like the rest of you. If you knew where she got her wood, neither would you. I’d be willing to bet that once your two years is up here you’ll be heading south again so it’s no big deal to you.”

Sims looked at Walker curiously. He was shocked that Walker had shared the reason for the callouses. In the first speech Walker gave the recruits when they arrived he had insured they understood who made the decisions and that those decisions were final. He had also made it clear that he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone and wasn’t interested in getting to know any of the recruits on a personal level; everything was to remain professional.

Sims was especially interested in why Walker would slip up by saying something cryptic about firewood, especially after his comment about the report sounding like a ghost story. He exited the interrogation room and walked to the lunch room to rinse out his coffee cup. He knew that if he left it for morning the coffee residue would be impossible to remove. He also made a mental note to start making the coffee himself.  The station wasn’t large; there were two offices, a lunch room, a reception, the interrogation room, the locker/evidence room, the weapons/ammunition room, and three cells. During the night shift it was deathly quiet. The cells happened to be empty and the only lights on were in the reception, the interrogation room, and now the lunch room.

By the time Sims reached the reception Walker was already there waiting for him. Marley, the town’s drunk, or at least one of the town’s drunks, had stumbled in and was sitting on the scuffed green linoleum floor, hugging his arms tightly around himself while rocking from side to side. Walker looked at Sims and rolled his eyes.

“Ok, Marley, need a warm bed to sleep in tonight?” said Walker as he walked around the counter toward the scruffy man in three layers of torn clothing. “It’s your lucky night, we happen to have a vacancy.” 

Suddenly Walker stopped and put his right hand on his sidearm. As soon as he did this, Sims did the same. Walker began to back up slowly while keeping his eyes on the old man on the floor. The Staff Sgt. wasn’t a burly man but he was fit. At 6’2” he towered over most of the people in town and his thick torso, arms, and legs denoted a man who would be hard to take down let alone defeat. It seemed odd to Sims that Walker should be acting overly wary about a short, malnourished old man who was high most of the time on moonshine.

Without taking his eyes off Marley, Walker motioned to Sims to move around behind the old man and hold his position. Sims did so, without question. As he got closer he was able to see what had caused Walker to become so alert.  There was matted blood in the old man’s beard and hair.  His eyes were transfixed on some invisible subject and he was whining unintelligible words under his breath. The shoe on his right foot was torn on one side so that the sole would flap when he tried to walk but the other foot was shoeless. The sock on his left foot was drenched in blood but his foot seemed to be intact.

“Marley!” shouted Walker, trying to shock the man out of his reverie. “Hey. Marley!” But the old drunk didn’t even blink let alone look up.  Walker looked at Sims and shrugged. Sims shrugged back.

“Listen Marley,” said Walker loudly, “you can’t stay on the floor like that. We have to move you into a cell so that you can sit on a bed instead of the cold floor.  Myself and Constable Sims are going to get closer to you and help you stand up. Do you understand?”  No response.  “Marley, I don’t want you to make any sudden moves or try to resist or someone might get hurt. We don’t want anyone to get hurt tonight. We all know how the Doc gets cranky when he’s called out of bed on a cold winter night.”

Still no response from the rocking sack of clothes on the floor.  Walker nodded to Sims and they both started to slowly advance toward the man. To their relief he did not struggle but only stood up when each of them put a hand under each elbow.   They walked him slowly back to the first cell and sat him on the bed.  From here they could get a better look at him to see if he was injured and needed medical attention.  Neither officer could find a wound that would account for the blood.  They gently laid him on his back, left the cell, and secured the lock.  The old man lay in his bed, still rocking and mumbling while his glassy eyes remained transfixed on the ceiling.

“Do you think we should call the Doc?” asked Sims.

“No,” said Walker quietly, and then turned to go into one of the offices.

“But, sir…”

“Sims, I said no. Go get the mop and wash up those bloody footprints.”

Walker switched on the light and walked toward a door at the back of the room. Sims stood in the doorway of the office. From there he could see reception as well as the cell. All thoughts of going home to bed were forgotten.  The blood in the old man’s beard and hair had made him think of Cromwell’s truck. Sims was a third generation cop. One thing he remembered his dad and grandfather always saying was that there were no coincidences. Red Lake especially didn’t have odd coincidences where blood was involved. There was always a victim and there was always a cause…usually some angry logger who just got paid and spent nearly his entire paycheque on booze.

Walker pulled a wad of keys out of his pocket and singled out an odd looking one which he used to unlock the door. In the small closet there was only a filing cabinet with four unmarked drawers. Walker opened the one second to the bottom and pulled out a thick file. Sims turned toward the utility closet to retrieve the mop and bucket. It was at that moment that all three lines on the phone started ringing. The sound made both officers jump. They hadn’t realized just how quiet it was until the shrill bell of the phones sounded. Sims ran to the reception and answered the first call while Walker answered the second. They alternated like this for 45 minutes until finally Walker approached Sims and motioned for him to end the call then put all lines so that they would go to voicemail.

“What the hell!” asked Sims incredulously. “I’m getting calls from all over town about strange noises on roofs, dogs going missing, and one crazy dude who’s pissed that his satellite dish was knocked down. I’ve checked the weather but there are no wind warnings. And as for dogs…well, sometimes they take off when they smell prey.”

“I’m getting the same calls. Except there is one that is more serious and we have to go check it out in person. Mrs. Worley called and said her husband went out to check on their dog a half hour ago but hasn’t returned. She’s called all the neighbours but no one has seen him. She said he wasn’t dressed to be out in the cold this long and she can’t leave the babies to go looking for him.”

Sims sighed and both men went to get their gear.  The animosity they had felt toward each other earlier in the evening was all but forgotten. Not only did they dress for the drop in temperature to -28 they also retrieved the kit that they had been using when the survival instructors had been teaching them recovery techniques.

“Call Thoms, Healey, Reilly, and Norris to come in. All hands on deck tonight.” Instructed Walker.

“What about Sally?” asked Sims.

“Not necessary. We may need her tomorrow for coordination but for tonight let’s stick to officers.”

Sims made the calls quickly and briefly relayed the message that they were going on a possible search and rescue. He ensured they were aware Marley was in the cell and that the office would be locked after they left so the Constables were to all bring their keys since they didn’t know who would get there first.  When they asked why the whole staff was being called in Sims simply told them that they would have to wait on a report until after he and Walker returned.  The officers didn’t argue. Everyone knew that time was essential in this weather when searching for someone.

Walker and Sims exited the building, securing the door behind them.  The wind bit at their exposed skin.

Snow swirled up in wintry dervishes, whipping it around in unexpected directions. Both men made their way to the 4X4 all-terrain vehicle they used for off-road assignments and climbed in.  It felt like a freezer but the engine turned over easily and the interior heated up quickly.   Walker drove as Sims kept a keen eye open for any sign of movement along the route.  It took them only ten minutes to reach the Worley house and on the way all had been dark with no sign of life except the odd light on in a window.

As the officers walked towards the house the door burst open and 5-year-old Hailey came running out, crying and screaming. Her Little Mermaid pajamas were covered in blood and her eyes were big, round, and unblinking. Walker looked back at Sims who nodded, scooped up the trembling little girl, and whisked her to the truck as Walker pulled out his sidearm and advanced to the front door.  He barely stepped into the foyer when the smell hit him.  It was a musty smell mixed with blood and the smell of freshly baked cookies.  The living room was empty and the tv was showing an infomercial, the typical thing people watch when they can’t sleep.  Only one lamp was lit.  He moved to the kitchen and saw the cookies that Mrs. Worley had been baking still on the baking pan while they cooled. He knew Becky Worley well, he had delivered the little bundle that was out in the truck when Becky went into labour while the Doc was out in the bush attending to an industrial accident. He knew that Becky baked when she was really worried. Walker turned his attention to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He was filled with dread, thinking about what he might find.  There were still two children unaccounted for as well as their mother, not to mention the father who was MIA.

As Sims sat in the truck holding Hailey her wails tapered off to a pitiful whining sound as she sucked her thumb. He was about to say something comforting to her when he saw Walker come stumbling out the front door and vomit on the closest bush. He heaved two more times and then tried to stand up. Sims could tell that Walker was labouring just to stand upright.  The sight of his commanding officer in this state was unnerving and Sims could feel a bit of panic start to weasel its way into his already confused mind but when Walker marched over to the truck and climbed in he had the air of authority he had always portrayed and Sims immediately chided himself for doubting the Staff Sgt.

Walker slammed the door closed and started the truck without saying a word or even looking over at Sims.  He quickly backed out of the drive and started heading toward the station.  Sims knew better than to ask why they weren’t going to look for Mr. Worley or where the rest of this little girl’s family was but most especially he knew better than to ask what had made Walker puke his guts out on the front lawn of the Morley home.

Final Police Report by Staff Sgt. Mark Walker

November 25

It is 16:15 on Nov. 25 and I’m the only one left to leave a report. The past two days have been hell. The population of the area before Nov. 23 was over 4,200 souls. This morning, as I patrolled, I found two other people besides myself. By noon, they were gone.  I’m sure by this time tomorrow I’ll be gone too.

In fact, I can hear them coming. That soft sound like flags flying in the wind. So soothing if you didn’t know what it was. But I know what it is. I know what they are. There is nothing soothing about them.

Thoms and Norris shot each other. Friendly fire. The thing was between them but when they fired at it the thing took flight.  Healey died trying to save 150 children locked in the library. Someone panicked and knocked a candle over. The screams were unbearable and drove us all mad but we couldn’t reach them, they had chained the doors from the inside. The staff and teachers thought it would be safer. Safer. We broke some windows trying to get in but that only fuelled the fire and made it worse. It was over in 4 minutes. The longest 4 minutes of my life. Reilly deserted. Or I should say, tried to run. He didn’t get far. He got as far as the corner and then we could hear his screams echoing. We weren’t entirely sure he was dead until we found his arm in the parking lot, his torso on the top of the SUV, and his head…well, what was left of his head, in a bush around the corner from the station.

Sims and I seemed to make a good team. I was wrong about that young man when he showed up here. Turns out he was more like me than I cared to admit. We managed to rescue 1300 people and gather them in the rec centre where there are few windows and a strong cement structure. Once we had deputized a few of the men who were still coherent and able to maintain order, Sims and I started searching for survivors door-to-door. But it was always the same. Dismembered bodies, flesh eaten off most pieces. Blood. Lots of blood. And that sound. That maddening soft swooshing sound.

While we were getting food and other supplies at the FoodMart we heard the explosions. The first explosion shattered the windows in the FoodMart. We ran toward the recreation centre but before we got there we heard two more explosions. By the time we arrived there was nothing left of the building. There were charred bodies in the parking lot. We found no survivors.

I can hear them outside again. I know they’re waiting for me. It’s all the fault of that damned old woman. She was warned about not taking wood from that area of the forest. She just wouldn’t listen.  I hope she was the first to go, even before Cromwell. It would serve her right. There are lots of bodies we didn’t find but no one could have survived the storm yesterday without shelter.

Sims. A brave young man. He died this morning. He died while taking one of those monsters down with him. We had a plan but something went wrong. We waited for that soft noise, the sound that always precedes the carnage and screams and devastation. We waited for them, waited to ambush them. We finally saw them. There were only five of them. Only five! Only five had completely destroyed the town and killed all those people. It was hard to see them. In the reflection off the snow they almost looked like they were optical illusions and they were graceful. Graceful! I hate myself for even writing that.

Their bodies were fat and round. They didn’t look like they should be able to fly or stay aloft. They looked heavy but when they landed they made no sound. They had four legs that held claws sharper than any talons I’ve ever seen. The claws were able to peel back the metal on a car as though they were easily opening a can for dinner. I guess they were. Having dinner. Their wings were white as well. I thought I could see feathers but Sims said he thought they were like leather. Their heads looked like a spider with eyes all over it. Sims thought they looked like birds. Before I could stop him he ran at one of them and started shooting with his Glock. He was able to mortally wound one and the others turned on it savagely but then one saw Sims. He was gone in less than a minute. Totally ripped apart.

That’s not how I want to die. I have written this account so that there is a record of events. I can’t wait for help to come. I can hear them outside now, clawing at the walls and the roof. I can hear them. They mock me. I have saved one bullet. I’m going to use it now.

Official Report by Canadian Armed Forces

Military Police

Arrived November 30, 0700 hrs by air.  Perimeter has been secured and no civilians will be allowed access.  All military personnel are required to wear HAZMAT gear and maintain a high level of alert at all times.

A complete sweep of all structures and surrounding environment has yielded multiple human and non-human casualties. Identification of humans will be difficult and in some cases impossible. A makeshift morgue has been set up 2 km east of the town.  Non-human casualties identified as dogs, cats, birds, and other possible household pets as well as numerous deer, moose, and rabbits.

Only one male victim has been located intact. All other casualties have been dismembered, burned, de-gloved, and/or disemboweled. There is no source of power for electricity, water, or communication. First observation yields evidence of sabotage.

Male victim intact looks to have died from a single gunshot wound to the head. A laptop has been recovered with what seems to be a final dissertation by the lone deceased male.

Confidential Report

Classified

Unauthorized distribution of AZ451 has resulted in mass casualties in northern Ontario.  Disciplinary action has been taken against offending parties.

While the incident was unfortunate we now have data on how AZ451 will work on the human psyche.  It was released and distributed as an airborne substance and inhaled by human and non-human subjects. Preliminary results show no effect on non-human subjects. Preliminary results show extreme aggression and increased strength resulted in human subjects attacking each other without prejudice.

Upon further examination of journals and notes left by some of the subjects, the results were not the same for all subjects. Some subjects became the aggressors while others became delusional victims. Notes indicate victims and aggressors believed they saw creatures attacking them and their families. Descriptions ranged from flying creatures with talons or claws or hooves. The heads of the creatures ranged from spiders to birds to wolves.  Some creatures were described as slithering or bounding as well as flying.

Final male victim suffered delusions only.

Soil, plant, and water samples are all clear of AZ451.

Conclusion: AZ451 is a viable biological weapon in highly populated urban areas. It will leave the natural environment unharmed and uncontaminated.