Fall of Liberty

Vardaman’s Rage

Copyright © 2016 by Wolfen Saunderson

Hyena Press

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aaronsolomon53@gmail.com

Emma Vardaman

“Shit!” I growled, furiously as I raced down the half busy streets of Circa and Courtney in a damn near blinding fit of rage; vastly on route to my good friend, Jenni’s duplex just on the outskirts of downtown. Apparently, she was currently about more than knee high in some bit of a stickier than molasses type of situation, as she had not at all even attempted to answer or even return my more than nine billion phone calls I’ve been trying to get through to her ever since the Golden Thunder Pack and I had gotten recent word of her little split with Veronica, and how soon after that she had been well off the grid for a pretty good and long while. Now here it is all the way in the ass crack of the middle of next week, and still not a single word from either one of them about just what the hell is going on and all the goody insight of the meaty backstory soon to be uncovered behind it. I finally pulled my silver beamer up into the conveniently vacant space just in the front of Jenni’s parking garage for her chopper, before grabbing my ACOG scoped M4A1 from the backseat, and giving the usual two to three knocks on her front door. “Jenn, it’s Emmie, sista.” I reassured. “Open up for me please, girl. We really need to talk.” When there was no response, I almost immediately began to get the weirdest feeling down in the pit of my stomach along with my lupine senses peaking up on end that the place had somewhat of an eerie vibe of lifelessness to it; sort of similar to the exact kind you get when walking through one of those World War two battle cemeteries in the middle of midnight. I wasted no time in using my immense weight and lupine strength to boot the door open with only a single forceful kick from my sandaled foot, and carefully did some scoping out of the place until I came to a sight in the far left corner of the living room which made my heart stop almost completely dead in its tracks, and my stomach acids churn in sickness and indigestion. There, laying lifeless and bloody with her own pistol placed precisely about an inch or so from the gumball sized wound in her head, was the form of who was once known as my literal sister in arms, Jennifer Jasiri Gisselbrecht.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 19.06.2016

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To my fanatical and sincerely awesome hippo nation supporters, love you all and as always see you on the flip side.