Wonder Woman was created by Dr William Moulton Marston in 1941 and is the © copyright trademark of DC Comics. My Wonder Woman stories are only fan fiction and based, primarily, on the 1970s CBS TV show (albeit, updated to the present time of writing). However, any resources from adaptations and the comics may be utilised. All characters are entirely fictional. With the exception of Diana / Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor, these stories and characters are my own creations, unless otherwise stated. In my stories Wonder Woman is the only known superhero.
04 Hunting in Packs
The sullen scowling wolf-man paced, back and forth, the length of the room on all fours; his tail rigidly flapping in discontent; his large furry abdomen flaring on every breath; his icy blue eyes carefully watching his prey; the carnivore’s long jaw seething in anticipation of the kill.
Del blew the whistle a second time, “That’s enough, Laing – into your den you go.”
The creature reluctantly obeyed, ambivalently, lowering his head in appeasement. When the enormous wolf was safely back in the den, Hives removed her access card, from the slot, and the dividing door quickly came down. She turned to Wonder Woman who couldn’t conceal the blood trickling out of her punctured skin on her shoulder and back.
“You’re hurt, let me help you,” said Del, compassionately, “I did five years in medical school, it would be a shame to see it go to waste. Please, take a seat.”
Diana obliged, taking the nearest chair, while the laboratory technician gathered some materials from the drawers. She took some white powder and sprinkled it on Wonder Woman’s bites.
“This will stop the bleeding,” Del informed.
She pressed a pad against a bottle of transparent solution, and began to work on cleaning up the four wounds on Wonder Woman’s soft palpable skin. As she did so, Diana noticed Hive’s hands were quivering.
“You’re shaking,” said Wonder Woman.
“I’ve never seen him like that,” Del confessed, “He gets stronger all the time.”
“Potent,” offered Diana.
“He lives to kill.”
“No, not the wolf, the application,” Diana said, “What is it?”
“Just a saline solution,” She replied,
“It smells sweet,” Wonder Woman remarked, briefly shutting her eyes.
Del carefully observed her patient, “These lacerations look deep. You could do with an x-ray.”
“No, don’t worry – I’m a quick… a quick healer,” Diana lethargically returned, “That’s really quite overpowering.”
Wonder Woman attempted to rise up out of her the seat, but Hives pressed her firmly back in position with her long brittle fingers.
“Just take it easy and relax, you’ve been through quite an ordeal,” she whispered in Diana’s ear.
“I – I can’t see,” Wonder Woman drowsily said, lunging forward onto the large table, where she came to a complete rest.
“That was easier than I thought,” said Del with a smirk, “Topical chloroform on an open wound is quite effective – even against Wonder Woman.”
Gerry Goldman had entered the room, “You did magnificently, my dear, I’m more proud of you at this moment than I ever been before. Who’d have thought the legendary American heroine would be defeated, twice, by both brawn and brains?”
“Thank you, Vater – but what is to be done with her?” asked Del.
“Prepare her to be shipped to Cape Town – Osinov wishes to see her.”
Del elevated her olive coloured eyes, “That’ll take weeks by the ice breaker. It’s too greater risk with somebody like her.”
“Agreed, my dear, this is why I’m contracting Texas Denton to take her,” explained Goldman.
“But, Vater, the man’s a mercenary!”
“Which is exactly why he’ll do the job as instructed for the right price – nein questions asked – don’t forget the bodies he’s supplied to us in the past,” he said, “Now hurry it along, my dear, the deceased needs to be ready for her final journey before the Palmer staff awake.”
“I shall prepare Wonder Woman’s coffin at once,” she replied, seeing Goldman to the door, “But not before taking a blood sample,” she uttered to herself.
In his laidback slumber, Texas Denton was enjoying a smoke when Goldman unlocked the door.
“Howdy, Gerry,” Tex cheerfully said, “I wondered how long it would take ‘til you came knocking.”
“As it happens, I do have a little job for you,” Goldman told him.
“Fire away, I have time to kill – but this is going to cost you, pal.”
Although Goldman had hired Denton many times for transport to the Palmer Station, it was fair to say the two men didn’t like one another. Whereas Texas was mildly irritated by the director’s authority, and suspicious of the work he was given, he couldn’t know the contempt Goldman had for him. In his eyes, Denton’s lack of respect represented everything that was wrong with the times – and why under a new world order – those who didn’t submit would be silenced.
Blowing his cigarette smoke in bubble formations, Tex considered the proposition, “Fly the stiff to Cape Town, hey, and rendezvous with a yacht, in Table Bay, called the ‘Erich Raeder’ – that’s a pretty irregular directive, Goldman – I thought all the communications were down?”
“The reason why I employ your services, Mr Denton, is because you’re paid not to ask awkward questions”
They eye balled each other for a few seconds, finally, breaking into awkward mutual laughter.
“Okay, fine, double rates,” Tex haggled.
“Double rates, why?” Goldman inquired.
Denton grinned, “Its Christmas Day, pal!”
Approaching dawn, in freezing temperatures, Denton heaved thick powdery blocks of snow off the wings of his seaplane with a snow shovel. He could see Goldman leading muscular Tucker, who was pulling a trailer on skis, carrying a black coffin.
“Denton, I trust, Doctor Laing’s casket will be safe in your hands?” said Goldman.
“Sure, but somebody’s going to have to clear a lane for me to take off between that sea ice.”
“It’s only surface ice,” Tucker intervened, “A motor boat with a breaker will go right through it.”
Goldman warned Texas on his departure, “I’m depending on you to deliver Laing in perfect condition, Mr Denton – there will be consequences if you fail to do so.”
Tex jumped ashore, “In that case, I better get the stiff inside – we don’t want him going cold, now!”
Content with Tucker breaking the sea ice ready for the Twin Otter’s flight, Goldman left them to it. Back up at dormitory, he noticed Leon Pattison tracing foot prints, in the snow, outside the broken window of Marsha’s confined quarters.
“It looks like she has escaped, Gerry,” Pattison confessed, “CROSS HAS ESCAPED!”
“Sleeping on the job, hey, Leon?”
“I swear I was out for no MORE than FIVE MINUTES.”
Goldman briefly smiled, knowingly, “A black woman who wears that much perfume can’t be that hard to find in Antarctica – put the huskies on her scent.”
The roar of the Twin Otter launching into the distant blue sky caught their attention.
“DAMN! She must have escaped with the pilot?” Leon deducted.
“If she has, then, it’s one less problem on our hands,” said Goldman.
“What about Prince? She’s nowhere to be found either.”
“This is a disturbing development,” pondered Goldman, “We don’t want to lose sight of the IADC – find her.”
Goldman entered the main complex. At the end of the corridor, near the fire exit, he knelt down and opened a metal floor panel. At first sight, there was nothing more than pipes and cables, however, Goldman slipped through between these, to step foot on top of a narrow spiral staircase. He descended down thirteen winding steps, to the bottom, where he fumbled a key in the door.
The door clicked open to a large red carpeted apartment built inside a rocky cave. In spite being subterranean, the feel was sparse, and airy, with a mild breeze blowing through the place from a dark tunnel. The immediate room was down some broad steps, to a lounge, where Marsha Cross reclined on a grand Tuscan sofa, toasting a glass of champagne to Goldman’s arrival.
He scoffed, “So you’ve found my secret hideaway.”
“Just enjoying the comforts of your home from home, Gerry.”
“You took my spare key?”
She held up the gothic-looking key, “You see, Gerry, I’m not your average low-life criminal – like the ones you got Denton to smuggle to Antarctica, in the middle of the night, when the Palmer personnel were doped up to their eye balls – you know what I’m sayin’?”
“I’m beginning to,” he conceded, “So, my dear, what do you want?”
“Only the same amount you paid me to change yours and Hives’ background checks,” she stated with a grin, “Times five, baby!”
“Nein, I …”
Marsha broke into sardonic laughter, “Don’t try to claim you haven’t got it, man! With all the people traffickin’, you must be minted – which reminds me, I also want a free ride out of this freezin’ cesspit to Jamaica.”
“And if we don’t give in to your demands?”
“I’ll blow this whole smugglin’ racket sky high, by way of a knowledge bomb virus counting down on the IRAC network – only I can stop this, once my demands are met.”
Goldman’s grey face was resigned to defeat, “You appear to hold all the cards, my dear. Come, we can make the arrangements in the operations room, ja?”
“Glad, you’re seein’ sense, Gerry.”
They left through a lowly lit tunnel and out to a larger cave chamber. A constricted metal bridge crossed over a steep ravine to a narrow ridge. There were intermittent, haunting gusts of mild sticky air, and a shallow stream trickling beneath the bridge into the darkness, beyond, imitating the sound of inaudible human voices.
“WOW! This is some place you have here,” remarked Marsha.
“Listen,” Goldman cagily said, “Can you hear the wolves calling?”
“Wolves – you keep wolves down there?”
“Look,” he directed, pointing his finger, “the yellow eyes behind the boulder.”
He blew a whistle from the bridge; and one by one many yellow eyes appeared in the blackness. They stepped forward into the dull neon lights under the bridge.
“Hey, man, I didn’t know wolves could walk upright,” commented Marsha.
“They’re HUGE – THEY’RE WEREWOLVES!” she blurted in astonishment.
“This is the fate of the criminals whom were smuggled to Antarctica,” Goldman menacingly revealed, “At least, these are the lucky ones.”
“LUCKY – YOU CALL THAT LUCKY?”
“Allow me to show you why, ja?” Goldman invited, making his way across the bridge.
They stood on a tapered ridge between two gorges; on the one side wolf-men gathered under the bridge; on the other there were far more hideous creatures. Peering up at them through large yellow bulbous eyes was a furry man with widespread thick, scaly, red patches on his face and chest. Beyond a rock, Marsha caught the wolf ears of a furry woman who couldn’t stand up straight, scampering along on all fours. The most grotesque was the poor soul beset by black saucer-like tumours spread over the length of his body.
“OMG, OMG, OMG,” Marsha kept chanting, “What are they?”
“Mutants,” Goldman impassively said, “These are the living examples of experiments that went wrong.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“We stopped feeding them out of mercy. Sadly, they’ve become cannibalistic,” Goldman conceded, pointing to one climbing up towards them, “Watch out for this one, we call him ‘Snapper’.”
Marsha watched, in horror, at the creature with a man’s body and an oversized wolf’s jaw, angrily growling at her, as he mounted the cliff.
“YIKES! I’M OUT OF HERE!”
She turned to flee, only to find the bridge halfway through withdrawing away into the cliff on the other side. Goldman was safely back in the cave entrance, watching Marsha’s panic turn to terror, as she realised there was no way off the ridge.
She bellowed, “DON’T FOREGT, I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN STOP THE KNOWLEDGE BOMB VIRUS!”
“Gah, I’ve finished with Palmer,” Goldman vowed, “My wolves will kill everyone there as a Christmas treat – but their deaths will be kind compared to yours – you insufferable, stupid, woman.”
Happy he had consigned Marsha to her fate, Goldman left to leave her in the hands of Snapper; he hadn’t the stomach to watch her being eaten alive.
Frantically, she searched to find a way to safety. Meeting wolf-men down one ravine, or mutants on the other side, were equally unappealing to her. Climbing options were even more vicarious given Marsha’s choice of footwear, but stilettos could make an effective weapon, she thought, as a hybrid clawed hand reached the summit.
“KEEP AWAY, MAN!” barked Marsha, stamping her boot’s heel into the giant brown hand.
The stiletto attack merely served to make the mutant beast more determined, reaching up high enough to catch the spandex fabric on Marsha’s left thigh with his fingers.
“Aaahhh!” she wailed, as the creature’s clawed finger slashed her down to her boot.
Marsha fell on her side in an attempt to withdraw. The long jawed mutant, known as Snapper, veered over her with his long bushy tail wagging. Saliva dripped between his fangs and sharp teeth, as he inspected his trembling, but succulent, meal. Snapper’s raging jaws opened a foot wide and his victim let out a shrill, which echoed throughout the caves. The death cry was so terrible that it even stopped callas Goldman in his tracks for a second – then only silence – and he returned to the surface with a sense of ambivalent satisfaction.
For Part Five: Click Here.