Laws of Nature -2

by Christopher Golden

  "Put your hands on the desk, now!" Jack shouted.

  Incredulous, the sheriff froze, but he did not comply. His hand was only inches from the weapon that rested in its holster.

  Molly pumped the shotgun once, directed its barrel toward him.

  "Do it, Sheriff," she said. Her voice sounded cold to her, distant. But there was a reason for that.

  Something was wrong here. Something just did not feel right about any of this.

  With a grunt, the sheriff did as he had been instructed. He bent slightly over the desk, palms out flat. His eyes darted to each of them in turn and then went to Bill, who had not said a word.

  "You're interrupting my dinner," he said gruffly. "The paperwork I could do without. But my soup's going to get cold."

  "Who eats soup in this weather?" Bill asked, almost as though he were amused by it all.

  "Thought I might be coming down with something," the sheriff revealed.

  Jack glared at Tackett, then glanced quickly up at Bill in confusion. He dangled the gun in his left hand down at his side, but kept the other aimed directly at the lawman.

  "Where's the lair?" Jack demanded.

  The sheriff exhaled loudly. "What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped angrily. His furious gaze was on Jack now. "You want to kill me, rip me up like you did the others, not much I can do to stop you. But where does it go from here, boy?"

  "Don't try to play with my head!" Jack roared. He took two steps in toward the sheriff and aimed the gun at his head. "I want to know where the lair is. There isn't going to be any more killing."

  "I'm relieved to hear it," Sheriff Tackett replied.

  A growl began to build in Bill's chest. All the shouting and tension seemed to be rocketing along toward a violent crescendo, but until Molly heard that wild sound from Bill, she had felt almost powerless to stop it.

  No more.

  "Stop!" she snapped at Jack.

  He turned to look at her, confused.

  Molly stepped toward the sheriff, her shotgun aimed at a vague place perhaps two feet to his left. If she had fired then, the only thing she would kill was a potted plant or the file cabinet beneath it.

  "Change!" she yelled, voice quavering with nerves.

  He's got to be, she thought, almost crying inside. He's got to be one. If he's not . . .

  But even as the thoughts skittered through her mind, Molly could see in the sheriff 's eyes that he had no idea what she was talking about. Everything clicked together in her head. Paperwork? Soup for dinner? And he was mystified and infuriated by their intrusion.

  "Oh, God, Jack, he's human," she whispered. The barrel of her shotgun drooped toward the floor.

  "He can't be," Jack replied. "I mean . . . he let us go. And who else could have moved those bodies? He was right behind us. It doesn't make sense."

  Bill grunted loudly and blinked. Then he moved toward the sheriff, who seemed to shrink away from him slightly. Bill sniffed the air near him, and Molly saw him deflate a bit as he stepped back.

  "Molly's right," the big man said without glancing at Jack. "There've been Prowlers in here, but with all the flowers, I couldn't separate out the scent right off. But he's human."

  "Oh, hell," Jack groaned. Both guns lowered now, he backed up and leaned against the wall. "What've we done?"

  Slowly, the sheriff stood up. "Why don't you put the weapons down, all of you, and we can try to make sense of what you're going on about."

  He kept his hands in front of him, making sure they all saw that he was in no rush to reach for a weapon. Molly stared at Bill, hoping for some solution from him.

  "Sheriff, listen," Jack began, raising both guns again. He aimed them toward the back of the office, but it was clear to all of them that he was ready for a fight.

  "We told you our story before. It's the truth. I know you don't believe it, but think for a second. What else makes sense? If we were the people you're looking for, would you even still be alive?"

  But Tackett was angry. His nostrils flared and he studied Jack closely. "Put the weapons down, kid. Then we'll talk."

  Jack sighed. "Don't be an idiot."

  The sheriff actually cracked a smile at that one. "I'm an idiot? Look at the three of you. Illegal possession of firearms. Trespassing. Assault on a police officer.

  Give me time, I'll come up with more."

  “The Prowlers are real," Molly said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  The clock ticked on the wall. Behind her, Molly could hear Jack breathing hard. The sheriff 's chest rumbled, and she thought maybe he really was fighting a cold, as he'd said. The smell of his soup, French onion, filled the room.

  “I'm sorry. I just don't believe that," the sheriff said at last. He kept his gaze locked with hers, granting her at least the respect of not looking away. “Frankly, Miss Hatcher, I think you three have seen too many movies. You're all a bit off. Lay the weapons aside now, and I'll be as kind as I can with the charges. But there will be charges."

  Molly turned away, heartsick. What were their options now? They could surrender and go to jail, or cuff the guy and become fugitives. Neither was much of a choice. But if they were incarcerated, there would be no one else out there to combat the Prowlers.

  Filled with dread and confusion, she walked to Jack and stared at him. “What do we do?"

  Jack let his shoulders sag and he stared for a moment at the ground. They were well and truly screwed. What they were doing was difficult enough without having Sheriff Tackett as an enemy. Jack was at a loss. The guns in his hands felt heavy and more than a little silly. With a shake of his head, he lifted his eyes and met Molly's expectant gaze.

  After a moment Jack chuckled softly. “This is stupid."

  “Won't get an argument from me," Sheriff Tackett declared, an impatient expression on his face.

  “What?" Molly asked. “What've you got?"

  Jack shrugged. He couldn't believe he'd been so foolish. “Proof. We've got proof, Molly."

  Then he glanced over at Bill, no longer amused. “Show him," Jack said gravely.

  Bill twitched and stared at him in astonishment. Jack understood. He knew he was asking something terrible of his friend. One of the fundamental survival instincts of a Prowler insisted that he never reveal his true nature to a human who was not prey. Even Jack and Courtney and Molly only knew because Bill had saved their lives. It was even more important for someone who was attempting to live in the human world, to live, essentially, as a human being.

  But Jack could see any no other way out of the situation they were in. They needed Tackett as an ally now.

  “We don't have any choice," he said, hoping Bill heard the apology in his voice.

  The burly man nodded grimly, took in a long breath, then stepped up to the sheriff; he towered over the man. “Sheriff Tackett, you don't have a weak heart, do you?" Bill looked angry, and he looked mean.

  “You threatening me, mister?" the sheriff asked, misreading Bill's intentions.

  “Not at all."

  The sheriff frowned. Maybe there was something in Bill's voice that unnerved him somewhat. Whatever it was, he took a step backward and studied Bill a bit more closely.

  It happened all at once, and Sheriff Tackett's eyes bulged out. Bones cracked and popped in a change much more swift than those Jack had seen other Prowlers perform. Bill's face altered, fur sprouted through the skin all over his body, his jaw elongated, and his teeth thinned and multiplied into rows of tiny razors. His ears were pointed and jutted upward. What had been skin now flaked away.

  “Jesus," Tackett whispered.

  He staggered backward a few steps and unconsciously clapped a hand over his chest, as though his heart might actually stop. Then the sheriff fumbled for his gun, and drew it out of the holster.

  With a single, fluid motion, Bill reached out, grabbed him by the hand, and removed his gun. The enormous, brown-furred Prowler walked over and put the sheriff 's gun on the far side of the man's desk, and then jus
t left it there.

  “You . . . you're one of them," Tackett muttered, staring in fear and amazement.

  As they all watched, Bill changed back. It took perhaps a second longer than the first change. Jack knew that extra moment was necessary because this change was more difficult. The first had been simply revealing the beast within. This one required the biological manufacture of skin and the alteration of bone structure . . . the rebuilding of a faÆade.

  “I'm a Prowler, yes," Bill said, voice thick with his reluctance and anxiety over where this would all lead. “But I'm not one of them, not the way you mean. The ones who've been preying on this town? There have been dozens of disappearances and killings in the mountains around here that might have been Prowlers.

  I don't hunt anymore. Haven't for a very long time."

  Tackett stroked his mustache and stared at Bill, tilting his head first this way and then that, as though trying to see the magician's trick that had made the transformation possible. But it was no trick.

  “That's a comfort," the sheriff said dryly.

  Jack was about to step in when Molly beat him to it. He breathed a sigh of relief. It would be better coming from her. Tackett seemed to trust her, at least a little.

  “We thought you were one of them. The Alpha, actually," she explained. “That's the pack leader."

  Tackett leaned against his desk and stared at the three of them incredulously. “Should I be flattered?"

  “In a way," Molly replied awkwardly. “The thing is, you've got to know that we're not it. We're not who you're looking for. We need your help to figure out who in this town isn't what they appear to be."

  The sheriff 's gaze moved back and forth between Molly and Bill. Jack knew that he was barely on the man's radar at the moment. Molly was the one forcing him to think logically in the presence of a monster. Or, at least, a being Tackett could only see as a monster. Bill wasn't, but even Jack had a hard time coming to terms with that fact, and they were practically family.

  Idly, Tackett wandered back to his gun. Jack could have shot him, then. Bill was fast enough to attack and tear the weapon from the man's hands. But the time had come for the chips to fall. Nobody moved as the sheriff lifted his gun off the edge of the desk. He gazed at it a moment, and then slid it into his holster.

  “All right," he said, a rasp in his voice. “What've you got?"

  Almost in answer there was a soft thump somewhere down the hall.

  “Sheriff ?" a female voice called.

  “Damn it," Tackett muttered. “Your weapons." He glared at them and it was obvious he meant they should hide them.

  Jack stuck one of the 9mm pistols in his rear waistband, next to the third that was in its clip there. The second he placed on a shelf beneath a stack of file folders. When he glanced over at Molly, she had taken up a position near the window, and Jack could see her shotgun leaning against the wall under the curtains. The breeze billowed them slightly, and he hoped it didn't draw attention.

  A second later it was too late to worry about it.

  Tina Lemoine stepped into the office. There were tears on her cheeks, and angry streaks of mascara ran like war paint down her face.

  “Sheriff ?" The frightened woman glanced around at the others gathered in the office and frowned in confusion. But she did not let her surprise distract her very long.

  “Tina, what happened? What's - "

  “I was attacked," she told him. “Two men, snarling at me like animals . . . they chased me."

  Tina gripped Tackett's hands in her own, clearly becoming more self-conscious about those around her. She glanced at them, as if she felt foolish. Jack's heart went out to her. Then she frowned deeply and stared for a long moment at Bill, as if she had suddenly recognized him from somewhere.

  “Where?" Jack asked.

  Tackett glared at him. Then he turned to Tina and rephrased the question, speaking softly.

  “Where did you see them, Tina?"

  “Out behind the inn," she said. Once again she looked at Bill, oddly distracted from her own plight, and she shuddered slightly.

  “Tina!" said a stern voice from the open doorway.

  They all turned to see her father, Henry, standing in the hall. He still carried himself with a dignity and an air of power that Jack had seen in wealthy men before, but at the moment Henry Lemoine looked rattled.

  “This was a mistake," he told his daughter. “Come away, now, before you say something you will most certainly regret."

  Jack frowned, confused but also repulsed by the questions in his head. What was it Lemoine was afraid his daughter would tell the sheriff ? What had he done to her?

  “No, Daddy, don't do this," Tina pleaded. “You don't understand. All I wanted was to get the journal back, to stop all of this."

  Her father froze. “You mean it's here?"

  Tina nodded slowly. Her father began to smile, but his expression faltered and he sniffed the air, then turned to glare at Bill.

  “Now, look, Henry," Tackett interrupted. “I'd really like to know what's going on here. Tina just said she was attacked, and - "

  “Who are you?" Henry Lemoine demanded, staring at Bill.

  Then he sniffed the air.

  Jack understood then. “Molly," he said, voice hushed. “Get over here."

  But she had caught on at the same time, and she edged closer to the shotgun where she had propped it against the wall.

  “Your journal?" Bill said. “That's the book your pack has been killing civilians to get back?"

  “What the hell's going on here?" Tackett snapped, a bit of panic creeping into his voice as he glared from Bill to Henry to Tina.

  “The old man's the Alpha," Jack explained. “Looks like his journal fell into the wrong hands. All this time they've been trying to get it back, killing anyone who may have had it. The way Tina's acting, my guess is Foster Marlin stashed it here because he figured if anything happened to him, you'd find it eventually."

  Jack watched as Tina glanced over at the bookshelf on the other side of the room, confirming his suspicions. The journal was here, in the room with them.

  Henry Lemoine began to laugh. “Not bad, young man. That's pretty much how I've got it figured as well." Lemoine didn't look tired or anxious anymore. As he laughed, his voice became deep and throaty, and silver fur began to sprout all over his body.

  The sheriff cursed loudly. Though he'd seen a similar transformation a moment before, this was a man he'd known most of his life.

  Then Tina began to change as well, tears on her face. “It shouldn't have come to this," she said, but her voice was low, as though she had already surrendered to the conflict she knew must come next.

  One of the windows shattered and Jack glanced out to see a crowd of terrifying figures silhouetted in the dark.

  The Prowlers were coming in.

  CHAPTER 14

  It was as though the world hesitated a moment, as in the eerily calm eye of the hurricane, just before the calamitous, primeval force of the storm crashed down upon them.

  Molly cursed loudly and snatched up the shotgun. She turned her back to her friends and the two Prowlers who had first come in. She was counting on Jack and Bill to protect her. The two windows in the outside wall of the office were showering glass shards and splinters of frame down onto the carpet, and Prowlers were leaping in through the ravaged openings.

  Somewhere nearby, she thought she heard music playing. Light, sweet jazz with a bit of melancholy. It made her want to laugh, crazy as that would have been.

  Molly's finger tightened on the shotgun's trigger as the two Prowlers nearest her lunged forward. She fired, and a monstrous face was erased in a spray of blood and fur and bone. The blast killed the one and caught the other in midleap, peppering his torso with shot and dropping it to the carpet.

  A third was already inside, and he glared at her warily as she pumped the weapon again. In quick succession, two bullets punched through his chest and slammed the beast back into the o
pening, blocking the way for a moment.

  Molly glanced around and saw Sheriff Tackett standing behind her, eyes dark, expression grim.

  “Time to go, young lady."

  The growling, that was what unnerved Jack the most. It welled up around him almost as though the ground were ready to split, a volcano struggling to be born.

  But it was not that. This was the sound of the wild, the sound of bloodlust.

  Bill Cantwell, a man he trusted, a man his sister cared deeply for, stood beside him, snarling with rage and menace. But Bill was not really a man. Only moments ago he had proven it to the sheriff, and now he had changed again. Saliva dripped from his gleaming fangs, his black nose sniffed at the air, and he danced from one foot to the other, staring down the others, ready to break them, to make them bleed, to tear at their flesh with his jagged maw.

  The silver-furred Prowler Jack suspected was the Alpha and the dark-furred female - Tina, it's Tina, a voice within reminded him incredulously - started toward them, both snarling with a savagery that stole from him any memory of how benevolent they had seemed only moments before. He had been trying to make sense of Tina's entrance and he was certain now that she had been trying to avoid this moment. But now that it had become inevitable, she stood by her father's side.

  Part of the Pack.

  “You've caused a lot of trouble, boy!" the Alpha growled at him.

  Jack's fingers closed around the nine millimeter he'd slipped loosely into his belt before. Almost unconsciously, he drew it out, aimed, and fired one round between the two creatures.

  “It isn't over yet," he said coldly.

  The weight of the gun was warm and welcome in his hand. The thing was awful, the insidious power of the weapon, but it was also the only chance they had to survive.

  A loud shotgun blast echoed off to his right, but he did not dare turn his eyes. Sheriff Tackett had rushed to aid Molly when the invasion had begun, and he had to rely on both of them to protect themselves, at least for the moment.

  The Alpha leaped at Bill, claws slashing down. Henry Lemoine's human appearance was misleading. He seemed slim, slouched, even old. Lemoine was larger by far than he'd appeared, and age had not slowed him. His claws swiped toward Bill's throat and would have torn it out, a killing blow, if Bill had been one second slower.