The Blood Trade


The mist was cloying and oppressive as desert heat. Of course the desert preceding the mist had been frigid, almost freezing. If anything the mist was pleasantly warm in comparison. The moisture made his pant leg tacky, the blood no longer fully dry. His shoe felt loose, it was slowly, and finally falling apart. The bullet holes he had put in it accelerated this process. His sock was stiff with the blood that had soaked into it. Once again Fenrir thanked whatever god was up there for the rapid healing his kind possessed. He couldn’t imagine how an ordinary human would survive on their own out here.

The mist finally quit as Fen came out the other side of the cloud wall. The rolling landscape was covered in cool grass so green it was surreal, with trees dotting the rolling hills. It was the polar opposite of the desert in every way. Even the sun was shinning, the clouds were few and far between here. Fenrir looked completely out of place in his dirty clothes and ragged coat. He quickly climbed a large hill and surveyed the land ahead. Trees thickened into a wooded area not far away. People usually built in amongst the trees these days, they offered protection from larger beasts.




Fenrir found himself almost afraid to cross all that open ground. Creatures that grew big tended to live in places like this. He unlimbered his rifle and worked the bolt. A round slid into the chamber as the breach locked. He wished he had a bigger gun as he began his march to the trees.

Birds sang, a few small animals bolted at Fenrirs scent. He was tempted to shoot a few, but decided it would be best to get among those trees first. Of course it was never that simple. As Fenrir entered a small copse of trees all sounds seemed to die away, fast.

He stood stock still and swore to himself that if he even thought of the words “deafening silence” he would shoot himself in the foot. Every author he had ever read would describe it as such, and it always signaled something bad. Fenrir hated being trapped in the clichés he had so often rolled his eyes at back when he was human. The first sound he heard drew his mind down to a razors edge, thoughts of clichés forgotten. A thrumming sound, faint but powerful, made the creatures presence known.

Fenrir turned his head ever so slowly and nearly died of fear for the split second he felt it. Whatever the creature was it had gotten far too close. How had he not heard it, or seen it, or felt it looking at him? These questions went unanswered as a silver orb floated not far from Fen. He had never seen a creature like this before, it had no external adornment, just a shimmering orb. It was large, taller than he was even if it couldn’t float. I began to shove down trees, moving slowly toward him.

At this point Fenrir gave up all pretense of hiding and shouldered his rifle. The report cracked across the landscape as a hole appeared near the center of the floating orb, a small freshet of blood issued forth. Fenrir smiled, the thing looked imposing, but if it was made of flesh and blood it could be killed.

Of course it wasn’t that simple. The shot made the orb shudder and moan. A line spread slowly across its girth. This line revealed itself to be thin rudimentary lips, as the thing nearly split in half revealing a wide maw that could swallow a car. The thing screeched like a banshee and shot forward like a bullet to engulf Fen.

But before Fen could react a streak of smoke impacted the creature’s side and exploded. Fen had been in the wastes long enough that he mistook the explosion to be some sort of spell. But the second streak revealed it to be something less fantastic, someone was hitting the beast with rockets. The second rocket left the creature nothing but a pile of red meat with gray flesh draped over it.

In one practiced motion Fenrir dropped to the ground and mostly out of sight. He withdrew a pair of sunglasses from one of his pockets and put them on. He reached back into a side pouch of his pack and grabbed his beanie, slipping it onto his head and over his ears. At a cursory glance Fen would appear to be entirely human. This was the exact image he hoped to present to his saviors.

Fenrir quickly spotted a group of about five men, two of them carrying launch tubes, positioned on the overlooking ridge. Three, one of them carrying a launcher, broke off from the group and jogged down to him. Fenrir decided to be polite, gathered up his rifle and jogged to meet them.

The first one to reach him appeared to be their leader, but these days that was often a loose term. “Hey, looks like you had a close call there,” the leader said. “Good thing we were here. That thing woulda snapped you up before you worked the bolt on that pop gun a yours.” The man had a southern tinge to his accent.

“What the hell was that thing?” Fen responded.
“Oh we ain’t too sure. There ain’t that many floatin around. We just kill em where we find em.”
“Well… Thanks for the save I guess.” It was then that they invited Fen to come with them back to town. The group was just getting back from the field; apparently they were from a farm town. They never mentioned the reason they were traveling as an armed group, so Fen never asked.

After a pleasant walk which temporarily cut through the forest they reached the town. Fen’s previous assumption was proved wrong; the people were using what looked like an existing pre-Advent town named Margin. It looked like a normal town, but given the name and landscape, Fen doubted you could find it on a pre-Advent map. In all likelihood the place had appeared out of nowhere, everything neatly stored and waiting for new inhabitants, as though the place was always meant to be taken over by the refugees.

They made their way down the road passing a parking lot that looked like an army motor pool. Neat rows of six wheeled trucks numbering into the dozens just sitting there. A few odd humvees where arranged closest to the road, all seemingly ready to go. “I know what you’re thinking.” The man with the southern accent stated. “Round the time we found this place we come across all these trucks, a couple tanks too but those are over near the bar. Whole convoy was loaded with weapons an ammo right op to the tops of those trucks.”

“So what happened to the soldiers that let them just give you all this gear?” Fen asked.
“Well let’s just say what was left of em didn’t mind too much what we did with the stuff.” The man said in morbid humor. “Some of the windows are still busted, an the doors are torn off on a few trucks. But they all run and we cleaned most a the guts outta the cabs. We keep em around just in case we all gotta blow outta here in a hurry.”

There were more people than Fenrir had ever seen occupying townships such as this one. Usually this many people attracted the largest of animals and the toughest of bandits. Of course every person he had seen since he’d arrived had been armed. This likely made up for the lack of protective walls around any part of the town. The only walled off part seemed to be where they were going.

A small side street lead them to a steel gate that seemed to be made out of a large garage door. The wall itself was made of wood from the nearby forest, similar to an old fort. Fen wondered who had figured out how to build the wall. Most forts fen had seen were made of steel and used existing stone or concrete buildings whenever they could. He had seen people erect walls out of plywood and particle board. His favorite was still the wall made of trashed econo cars stacked on top of each other.

This wooden wall was the first he’d seen; it was by far the most impressive, towering over every other building in town. Wood would block incoming rifle fire much more effectively. The garage door was the only weak point, but as the door rolled up Fen noticed a pair of buses parked directly in front of it. They were placed with their rears to the door, the backs plated with what looked like the armored skirts off a tank. The idea seemed to be that one could simply back the two buses into the framework that held the door in place, thusly blocking the entry more forcefully.

Strangely the light was extremely diffused; you almost needed a light to see by within the immense wall. Fen soon found that there was a roof of sorts, made of living branches so thick you couldn’t get an arm through it. There was of course no way this could have been built entirely by hand, these people had a magic user amongst them. Fens safe feeling went away immediately. Magic users were a dangerous bunch, often able to “sense” an unnatural like himself without the two ever meeting.

However, Fenrir was already inside and sure he was going to be given a hot meal. He had passed the point of no return without even realizing it. He was in an armed human camp with a magic user who might know what he was already. As they approached the tavern, or bar if you wanted to call it that, he loosened up. Being in a hopeless situation was actually soothing for Fen. Probably just the endorphins in his brain telling him everything was peaches and cream.

They entered and the group scattered to what Fen assumed were their regular tables. The man with the southern accent gravitated towards a booth and Fen followed him. “I noticed to admiring the roof on the fort out there. Nice isn’t it”

“Impressive was the word I was looking for. I assume it’s not made by hand.”
“Of course, you can’t make a thing like that.” The southern man said, speaking almost like a child showing off a toy. “All those trees are alive out there; he brought em back to life after we built the wall. They got roots all over, can’t just knock em down with a truck like the last raiding party tried.”
“Can I assume they’re enchanted to be immune to certain things?”
“If ya assumed that you’d be right. Can’t burn em no matter how hard you try. Explosives might do some damage, but like I said, they don’t burn and knockin em down’s too hard, so it ain’t likely.”

Fen chuckled at the sheer power required to do such things. But he also noticed the lights were on inside. One might mistake it for electricity, but the light was the wrong color, too yellow. However it was too bright to be candles or lanterns, and there was something in the light sockets. “What’s your name anyway? I missed it.”
“Name’s Dan,” the southern man whose name was probably not Dan said, “yours?” It should be mentioned that an almost unreasonable number of people travel under pseudonyms. An oddity for sure, but Fen was one of the first in this trend.
“The name’s Fenrir, nice to meet you Dan.” They shook hands, Fen’s hand was deemed surprisingly soft by Dan’s standards. In fact the sunglasses bothered him somewhat. “Umm, I need to use the bathroom.”
“Oh, it’s in back, we’ve got running water.” Dan said blithely. “Another thing you’ll have to thank Val for when he gets here.” So the magic user had a name. And he was coming to meet Fen.

‘This day just keeps getting better,’ Fen thought. The bathroom was clean, small, and had a lock on the door which Fen used. Turned on the faucet and clear water ran out. He toyed with the sink for a minute, washing his face, hands, and doing his best to get the blood off his tattered pants. It seemed almost a crime to use the toilet and sully such clean water. The wonderment wore off Fen proceeded to stare in the mirror. A scrawny malnourished face stared back. He was almost shocked at how young he still looked. No wonder they were so keen on helping him, they saw a dirty kid who might have been a weary 18, if that old.

This was a face people were inclined to help. There was only one problem, when Fen removed his sunglasses one was confronted with his own eyes. Two golden rings floating in black ink, a wolf’s eyes. Removing the beanie allowed his two triangular ears to flip up. In the old days one would not associate a set of dog ears with being a werewolf. This was still mostly so, among werewolves Fen was an oddity. Lack of facial hair, skinniness, the eyes and the ears, Fen even had a tail tucked down his pant leg. All these features were uncommon for a werewolf in human form.

Ordinarily a werewolf looked completely human unless he or she shifted shape. Fen, however, seemed to be the exception that proved the rule.

Fortunately Fen had been blessed in certain terms. Most werecreatures were prone to violent episodes, commonly coinciding with stress or the full moon. Fen had full control at all times however. Not that anyone else could be sure of that, or would even care. They would still kill him if they found out, or at the very least drive him out of town.

Of course he had accepted these draw backs long ago. Most werewolves stayed in the wasteland, remaining in their wolfish form 24/7, forming packs and giving up their humanity entirely. Their idea of freedom he supposed. That life did not appeal to Fenrir, he still thought in human terms. It was ironic, really. He finished drying himself, replaced his hat and glasses, and left the bathroom.

In the intervening time the food Fen never ordered had arrived. He wondered where in the world they got a hold of a steak the size of a hubcap. It had been years since the last herds of cattle had disappeared, presumably eaten by the growing population of predators.

“That’s your food you know? On the house.” Dan stated. Fen needed no more invitation, he tore into the steak. He barely remembered to use a knife and fork. He swallowed his first few bites and thanked Dan like a man dying of thirst would thank someone for water. It could have been the worst steak a human being had ever cooked and Fen still would have savored every bite.

His fatigue disappeared, his aches and pains vanished, and the color came back into his face, proclaiming perfect health to the world. You don’t know the meaning of the word “revitalized” until you’ve seen a starving werewolf eat. Their health is based almost entirely on how much they’ve eaten. Losing a limb is no problem to a well fed werewolf.