HOWL - Hunter's Moon

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION, SYRIA - 2010

It was hot that day. Had been hot yesterday. And it was probably going to be hot tomorrow. That was the nature of things in the middle of the Syrian desert. Haylee didn’t mind, she’d long ago adjusted to the dry climate, the frequent dust storms, and lost hope they’d ever see rain, much less the target they’d been tracking for a little over a year, now. But her superiors would promise her otherwise (both rain and traction), and she knew better than to speak against their word. She was, after all, only a lowly Comm Tech...it simply wasn’t her place to say anything, be it about rain in the desert...or whether or not their target was even still alive.

The last transmissions the camp had picked up from Nasar Ngazi had been jumbled and confusing. He had been the head of an organization in Syria that had been a proven front for a supply train for another group of ISIS insurgents...though whether or not he was ISIS, himself, was still up for debate. Either way, he supported them and that meant the United States Army wanted his head on a silver platter...with all the trimmings and fixin’s.

But, again, that wasn’t really any of her business. Today she was on IT duty for the camp. The last storm that had blown through had messed up a few of their routers and knocked more than a handful of their satellite dishes out of sync. She’d just finished with that when she’d received a call from her C.O. that Dr. Murphy’s Netflix was acting up. As if that was really their problem? But whatever. Haylee grabbed her handset and brought it to her mouth, pressing the button. “10-4. On my way to the Med tent. Does Doc not have anything better to do?”

She released the button, listening to her sergeant laugh a little before responding. “Evidently not, Q. Last order of the day, though. When you’re done with Dr. Murphy you can sign off. I’ll catch you in the mess hall. Over.” A small smile had crept onto her face as she hesitated in the door of the tent she was about to leave. Walking around camp grinning like a goof wouldn’t be...safe...for her reputation, anyway. And romance between a soldier and her commanding officer was a definite no-no...but Jason Klein was...well...graciously subtle about it all.

“10-4. Over and out,” she said, then hooked handset back onto her belt and headed out into the sun and dusty day toward the medical tent. Everything was normal. Day to day operations were taking place all over the camp, from guard duty to latrines...but something was strange. Haylee couldn’t shake the sense that something was inherently wrong. She still tried to shake it off and look forward to her dinner date with Sergeant Klein.

While it wasn’t overly marked, she knew exactly where the medical tent was located. The only indication it was used to house the injured and the sickly was the white standard medical cross on the tent’s plastic door. It was also one of the few structures within the base that had doors, other than Comms and the command tent. Of the dozen or so other tents, it was also one of the largest. Because of this, a guard was usually stationed at the entrance. During this particular shift, Lieutenant Daniel Johnson was on duty. Which was good because he still owed her $500 from their last poker game. Regardless, the massive, dark-skinned twenty-something grinned at her, cleared his throat and gave her a salute.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant,” Johnson said, dropping his hand. She returned the salute, pausing at the door with a chuckle.

“Afternoon, Johnson,” Haylee said.

“What, dare I say, brings you to Medical?” he asked in sweet, dulcet tones, relaxed and casual as he usually was. Haylee grinned.

“The doc complained about his Netflix...I’m willing to bet all the resets screwed with his wireless or something…”

Johnson laughed and shook his head. “That sounds about right,” he said and smirked. “Better get to it, then. Don’t let me keep the good Doctor waiting on his soaps. Oh, and good luck.”

Haylee grinned and gave a snort of laughter in return, simultaneously reaching for the handle of the door. “Right? Thanks, Johnson. See you later.” He bobbed his head as she opened the door and stepped into the tent.

The tent was laid out simply: a small reception area with a desk, a walkway that led up to another door at the back of the tent labelled ‘surgery’, and two rows of beds lined up as tightly as they could stack them, with a small nightstand between each. Overall, there were about ten sets of beds in each row...and all of them were empty. The desk where one of the medical privates sat was empty as well. Papers which were usually neat and orderly were scattered. Most of the lights in the tent were dim or...broken? One light at the dar end of the tent illuminating the surgery door flickered on and off and swayed ever so slightly.

Something...was very wrong.

The air in the tent was stifling. She couldn’t tell if it was hot or cold, but she knew she could barely breathe. Chills ran up and down her spine as she sucked in a breath and stepped deeper into the tent, hesitating by the ruined desk.

“H...hello?” she called out nervously just as the door slammed behind her. She jumped and turned toward the door. As far as she knew, the door wasn’t geared to do that. She returned to the door and jiggled the handle, looking around outside for Johnson, but all she could see was blackness. Wait...that couldn’t have been right. It was barely 3pm, how was it this dark already?

“Johnson? Danny? Hello!!” she called, jerking on the door this time. It wouldn’t budge. Even if it was locked, it would have a little budge.

The creeping moan of an air raid siren filled her ears, coupled with the sound of a crowd...a crowd in pain. Cries of anguish, of fear...it was like Afghanistan all over again. Her eyes widened and she rounded to find -

Nothing. The tent was still empty. And now quiet. Chills ran up and down her spine as she swallowed. The far light still flickered, swaying in some invisible breeze, but as she stared at it, it suddenly became very still, flickering once or twice more before going out, throwing the far door in shadows again.

Haylee shook her head slowly, eyes wide. “What...the hell…,” she breathed, her back pressed against the door-that-would-not-open. Throwing off her nerves, she withdrew her pistol from her hip holster, flicking the safety with her thumb and kept it angled at the ground, both hands gripping the weapon firmly as her left forefinger rest on the trigger guard. The standard-issue Beretta M9 was comfortable in her small hands through several years of practice and work.

She took a few deep, calming breaths, refusing to let her fear take over. “Everything’s fine. It’s not real,” she muttered to herself. A mantra. “Everything’s fine, it’s not real…”

After a long moment, her stubbornness superseded her nerves and she steeled herself, beginning to take a few steps forward down the corridor that ran between the matching lines of beds. As she passed the first set, a distant shriek drew her attention behind her and she wheeled around, gun aimed steadily at…

Nothing. Again. The cry echoed, but she was pretty sure noises like that didn’t echo in tents. Seeing nothing, and noting the lack of change in the inky blackness on the other side of the clear plastic front door, she slowly lowered her weapon, then turned around again, only to find herself startled once more.

At the far end of the tent, behind the frosted door...light shone through. The outline of the white lettering was visible, illuminated solely from behind. She watched and waited, catching a shadow or two moving around on the other side, as though someone were passing in front of whatever was illuminating the surgical suite. She tightened her grip on her gun and moved forward.

“Doctor?” she called out, a touch of concern in her hard tone. “Doctor Murphy? You home?”

The beds seemed to stretch for hours, but it was only seconds. There were only twenty beds in the suite, right? How many had she passed? It couldn’t have been more than five. She was half-way there...but as she looked ahead and paused, she counted.

There were nine sets, total. She frowned, shaking her head. Nothing was making sense. Her mind was going screwy. Maybe the base psychologist had been right...maybe she wasn’t fit for duty anymore. The thought struck her like a blow, and she struggled to shake it off. No, she had been fine up until this point, her brain insisted. Something is wrong!

Behind her, the sound of shattering - the door! - accompanied by screams and moans of agony. For an instant, she could pick out voices. She heard Johnson and Jason...she heard Molly Danton, one of the privates that manned the reception desk, calling for assistance staunching a wound. She heard Marcus’s voice...Marcus Rosado? She hadn’t seen him all day, hadn’t he been dispatched-

She rounded again, gun steady to find nothing. Empty beds, darkened tent, trashed reception desk. And a black, peerless void staring at her from behind the front door. She lowered her gun again, then did a double-take and counted the beds she now faced. Ten. Including the row she stood between. But...now wait a second-

Haylee turned again and gasped, stumbling back a step. She was right up on the surgical door and shadows were moving behind that door more fervently than ever. No...no, this didn’t make any sense...Her heart began pounding in her chest, her breath flying out of control as she stared at that door and it’s vertical, plastic white handle. Panic was rising like bile in her throat, choking her and sending her into a maddening spiral of panic.

This didn’t make sense. Something was wrong!!! She was starting to regret ever doubting her senses, most especially the sixth one that told her when bad things were going to happen.

‘Open me,’ the door seemed to whisper. ‘I have answers.’

Despite her panic, she found herself enthralled and swallowed back the fear and bile while summoning her greater courage and strength. She wouldn’t give in to it. Not again. Still, as she peeled her right hand from her weapon and reached for the door, her hand shook. Time seemed to stretch and dilate as her hand moved through the air toward the door and for a split second, she questioned herself and her actions...everything that had led up to this very moment.

As soon as her fingers touched the smooth plastic, the lights behind the frosted door clicked off. Haylee hesitated, her fingers barely touching the handle as she stared with a mix of curiosity and fear. Silence pressed in on her from all sides until she couldn’t even hear her heart, which had been previously banging loudly in her ears. She waited for something...anything…

But nothing came. Everything was silent. Waiting.

Slowly, she began to push open the door to reveal the black room ahead.

As soon as it was open to her, the wail of the siren lit up the room behind her and she looked back to see...everything.

The lights overhead, now fully lit, revealed a sparsely populated infirmary, two ill soldiers in bed as well as several of the local population who suffered from crossfire wounds. Field nurses. Johnson stepping inside the front door. Molly Danton getting up from her seat.

Explosions rocked the tent, causing the lights above to shake and sway and the walls of the temporary structure to flutter. Haylee stumbled where she stood, but grabbed the handle tight to maintain balance. Cries of fright rose from the civilians in bed. Soldiers scrambled.

Haylee’s first instinct was to run...run out the front door and get to the comm tent and help get everyone organized. As she straightened, she holstered her weapon - it would be useless right now - and ran down the aisle, dodging between the nurses who were trying to put their sick and wounded back to bed, just as Johnson stepped inside to reveal...Marcus? But he wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Haylee!” he gasped as he caught her in the middle of the infirmary. “There you are! Haylee, we have to evacuate! You were right. You were right about everything! Haylee, I’m so sorry, I-”

She could hear it from far off. Whizzing through the air, it’s trajectory aimed for the dead center of the tent. A mortar. Haylee didn’t know how she knew...but she just...did. And it was coming. Now.

“Can it, Rosado! I know! Move!” she commanded, stunning him into silence...but that wasn’t enough. She grabbed the front of his utility vest and, using every bit of strength she had within her 5’6” frame, she started hauling him away toward the door. It took him two seconds too long to get the hint. He started moving his legs, but it was too late. The roar of it was overhead and by now, he knew it, too.

Time slowed to a crawl as she glanced back at him and he glanced up at the tent’s ceiling. It began to bow in the center, the perfect center, and Marcus acted. He turned slowly, lunging at Haylee, his arms wide to catch her, to shield her as they crashed to the ground. Behind him, she could see the mortar, still in slow motion, rip through the roof of the tent, sending a sudden splash of light down on everyone inside as it crashed down into the aisle…

...and exploded.