“It’s because we’re named after Northern generals, I presume. I don’t understand. That war was centuries ago.”
“Yeah, well, I was named after a general myself. One that wore gray.” Frost cocked his chin defiantly. “And ain’t all that much changed as far as those colors. Folks ‘round here have a saying. Lee surrendered … I didn’t.”
“Indeed, it is ironic,” Grant did not fail to see the humor in the situation. “I’m sure that irony wasn’t lost on our mutual employer, Mister McCallister.”
Well, you can’t help but like the guy. “Oh, I’m sure he’s getting a kick outta it as we stand here.”
“I hate to be rude, sir, but can we please move this conversation inside. It is quite warm out here.”
Frost looked to the other two mercs, both of whom smiled at the unspoken joke. Turning back to this Yankee stranger, Frost couldn’t resist. “Son, you’re wearing ten pounds of WannabeWool in the middle of an Alabama spring day. Of course, it’s hot!”
“Please, sir. If we could just step inside, I think we could clear up this whole matter.”
“You’re not vampires, are you?” Frost was still enjoying the game. “Once we get inside, you’re not going to attack us and drink our blood, are you?”
Behind him, Three and Seven chuckled under their breath. But their amusement disappeared instantly, as a massive, feral growl rolled like thunder from underneath the hood of the giant. The three men were immediately on alert. Seven instinctively reached for his Sabretooth tac-knife, but Grant held up a hand to stay him.
“Please, it’s quite alright, gentlemen,” he urged calm. “As I said, Sherman just needs to get out of the heat. It has been a long ride, as well. We could use a little of that Southern hospitality you pride yourself on.”
“I guess we haven’t been very accommodating to our guests,” Frost admitted. “Alright, my room. All of you.” After hearing that growl, he didn’t know if he might need some backup. He sure as hell wasn’t taking any chances. Inside, he closed the door behind his two new additions. “Okay, gentleman. Let’s see some faces.”
Grant reached for the upper lip of his hood. “As you wish, Mister Frost.” With that, he lifted it up and back.
“Holy shit!” Frost felt his face grow red, and his blood began to boil. “That goddamned McCallister!”
“I take it my appearance is unsettling to you.” Grant couldn’t help but smile as he slipped out of the cloak.
“Gives whole new meaning to what I said about boss’ pet!” Three’s jaw fell agape.
“Mother … fucker.” Seven shook his head. This whole mission was steadily growing foul. “What kind of bullshit is this?”
The creature that stood before them was not unlike the creature they were tracking. Humanoid, for the most part. He was obviously another of GenetX’s AnthroSplice creations. However, he was no vulpine. His characteristics and build were clearly lupine!
“It’s a goddamned wolf!” Cee Tee sprang from his monitor and backed away in abject terror. “A fucking werewolf!”
“Wait, no!” Grant held up his hands and gave a disarming smile. “I’m not a werewolf. I assure you! It doesn’t take a full moon to turn me into this.” Looking around the room, he saw no smiles. “C’mon! That was a joke.”
Unlike the petite Amber, he was tall, broad-shouldered and masculine. He had the body of an athlete, covered in a coat of dark gray fur. Except for the obvious anthropomorphic features, he was stunningly handsome, with facial features sharp and striking. His eyes had a majestic, yet predatorial glint. Yet, there was an intelligence in them Forrest immediately spotted.
“I recognize him!” Three pointed at Grant, wagging his index finger excitedly. “I’ve seen his kind at the Spaceports. “The Authority uses them for security now.”
“I believe you’re referring to the Police Dog series,” Grant replied. An unpleasant look crossed his face. “I assure you, sir, they do not use anything like me for such menial work.”
Frost turned to Three. “I think you just insulted it.”
If Grant shocked the mercs, there was no way they could have ever been prepared for the sight that awaited them when Sherman shed his cloak. Whereas Grant was mostly human with animal characteristics, Sherman was an entirely different sight to behold. He was a monstrosity, an animal that stood upright and had just enough human characteristics to be frightening. Covered almost entirely in short, black, coarse fur, it was barrel-chested and broad-shouldered. His head was like a boulder, deep-set between those massive shoulders, with no noticeable neck. A muzzle, with powerful vise-like jaws, was covered with light brown fur. He was a Rottweiler morphed into Frankenstein’s monster.
Frost studied the creature. While Grant’s eyes burned with human emotion and comprehension, Sherman’s were unfeeling and cold. Yet, one would make a deadly misstep if they mistook the lack of feeling for the dullness of idiocy. He might not be able to quote Nietzsche or appreciate Mozart, but this was no mindless minion. There was a definite intelligence there, limited maybe, but present.
It was an intimidating sight to behold, even for a man such as Frost. “Jesus, Joseph and Mary! What kind of mad scientist shit have those fuckers been doing down in their secret labs?”
Grant’s smile was one of sympathy mixed with amusement. “They have been naughty boys, have they not? It was wrong of them to give you no warning at all as to the true nature of your reinforcements.” His facial expression turned slightly more serious, yet still amiable. “However, all that aside, please do not sell us short. You might be pleasantly surprised at our range of talents.”
“And those are?” Frost’s voice had an unintentional bite to it. He was irritated at this unforeseen situation; however, there was no need to take it out on these two lackeys. His anger was for his handler, McCallister. These were simply pawns, just like he was, pieces on a corporate chessboard.
“Sherman here is an excellent tracker,” Grant explained. “He has bloodhound DNA. He can
