CLAN

by Harry Shannon

  "What do you mean?"

  He pointed to the edge of the highway. Kelly had to squint in the darkness, but eventually she made out the shapes hulking along the roadway; the silhouettes of a dozen or more motorcycles and their large drivers smoking and talking in the dark.

  23

  After a few frustrating moments of silent debate, Case reversed direction and drove the Chevy back into Salt Lick. When he got near the storage garage he saw that it had already been shut down. The motel office seemed closed as well; the shades were drawn, the closed sign was in the window and the door was locked. That didn't take long. Case parked the car and set the emergency brake. He turned off the engine, got out and went around to the passenger side to open the door.

  Kelly got out. The temperature had taken a sudden elevator to the basement. She didn't have a coat and started shivering from the cool evening breeze. "Well," she said, miserably. "What the hell do we do now?"

  "Find somewhere to open that briefcase. Stay here for the night."

  "That's all you can come up with?"

  "Let's look rationally at our situation," Case whispered, dryly. "We can't just charge the car into a group that large and expect to get through. I can't fight them all with one gun. The motel is locked and they'd look for us there eventually, anyway. Finally, we know what happens around here to strangers who are dumb enough to stay outside after dark. That about sum things up?"

  "I'd say so."

  "Then stay close to me and be quiet."

  Case went around to the back and got the silver briefcase and the extra ammunition. He left their suitcases in the trunk. He closed the lid as quietly as possible and motioned for Kelly to follow him. They stayed in the shadows as they crossed the silent parking lot. A cold wind rose and leaves trembled. Suddenly Case dropped to one knee, military fashion, and motioned Kelly down.

  The beam of a flashlight sliced through the darkness ahead of them. Someone was coming through the trees.

  Case duck-walked sideways and backed under the motel room porch. Kelly followed. She cringed as her chilled flesh brushed spider-webs, dead insects and dried brush. He pulled her head close with one hand and whispered in her ear. "Wait here until we know who it is."

  She nodded. Her nose tickled from the dust and dirt.

  The light flicked off and the whole area went black. The only visual ambience came from the full moon. The buildings and trees were like charcoal sketches on a bleak canvas of burnished bone. There came a vague crunching sound; over with rapidly, there and gone. Then another faint, quick sound. And yet another. Someone was walking through the leaves and pine needles. Coming their way.

  Case palmed the .38. He knelt on the metal briefcase and tried to brace his feet against the wooden post holding up the porch. He wanted to be able to close the distance rapidly; if he was going to fire the gun he wanted it buried in someone's clothing and flesh, so that the sound would be as muffled as possible.

  The footsteps halted. Case kept Kelly motionless. The person waited so long that the insects in the area began to chirp and rustle again. A long, yellowing finger of light reappeared and jabbed into the shadows near them. And then Kelly choked back a scream of alarm.

  The flashlight probed the parking lot, their empty car.

  The footsteps resumed.

  The tall figure that came out of the trees had a thick face and wore old-fashioned long-johns and boots with no outer garments. It was the handyman, Hondo. The one Jennifer wished to protect.

  Hondo moved out of the darkness and stood beneath the full moon. His hair was disheveled, the garment was torn and hanging half off of his left shoulder. His mouth hung open as if the huge jaw were dead weight. Out in the open, the huge flashlight looked more like a weapon than a tool. Hondo looked up at the sky and grunted in an inhuman way. He dropped the flashlight and went to his knees. His hands came up to clutch at his temples. They were covered with what appeared to be blood. Hondo rocked in the moonlight, a man inarticulate and tormented. Finally he wailed like a tortured prisoner bereft of hope. ArOOOooooOOOooooo…

  And then he showed his teeth in a snarl.

  Under the porch, Case felt his flesh ripple. A human wolf. And the man had clearly killed again. He decided to take Hondo into custody. He turned his head to whisper instructions to Kelly, but Hondo fell silent. Alarmed, Case looked back. The handyman was suddenly up on his feet. He hunched forward, both sniffing the wind and listening. Just then, Case heard the sound of someone gunning an engine.

  The bikers were coming.

  Jesus, Case thought, is Hondo involved with them in some way?

  Things shifted. Hondo spun before Case could react. He growled, apparently at some movement taking place behind him. He sprinted back into the trees. Hondo moved gracefully for his size, almost soundlessly. He was gone in the blink of an eye. The forest went still.

  Meanwhile, the motorcycles grumbled their way down the drive. The gang was obviously in no hurry. Case and Kelly stayed put. Eventually the headlights lit up their parked car. They watched as the woman called Mary Jane hopped off the back of Hombre's bike and went to look inside. Meanwhile, several bikers drove into the parking lot, some with their lights off. Case counted eleven, which meant several more were stretched out along the drive or still waiting at the highway.

  The noise from the engines was too loud to be able to hear, but they were shouting back and forth. Mary Jane went back to Hombre's bike and hopped on. Two of the bikers went back toward the cutoff to the interstate. Several others followed Hombre and Mary Jane, who drove south; across the parking area and into the trees by the empty picnic ground. One was left to stand guard.

  The lone biker near their abandoned vehicle lit a cigarette. After a few moments the skunk scent reached Case. The man was getting stoned.

  Good.

  Case touched Kelly's arm. She leaned her head closer. He whispered in her ear: "Maybe we'll just sneak away. If not, I'll take him out." She rubbed her arms to show she was cold. Case slipped out of his windbreaker and covered her shoulders. The biker took another long drag. He sat down in the gravel with his back to them and leaned against the rear tire. Case checked his watch. The moon was climbing, precious time slipping away. He tucked the gun into the waist of his jeans.

  …OOoooooooOOoooooOOOOOooooo…

  Kelly jumped at the far-away sound and hit her head on the porch. The noise seemed colossally loud to Case, but the biker did not react. He took her arm and slipped out into the open, one eye on the biker and one on the apparently empty town. Kelly followed—brushing real and imagined webs, dust and insects from her hair.

  Case eyeballed the trail. He wanted to keep away from the woods now that night had fallen, but that wish was now competing with the urge to stay hidden for as long as possible. He looked back. The biker seemed to be relaxed and was still sitting in the dirt with his back to the parking lot, looking out at the stars. Finally, Case opted for the oldest trick in the book. He reached down into the gravel and found a golf-ball-sized rock. He braced himself and threw it out over the parking lot so that it would come down in the dry sagebrush to the north.

  When the rock hit ground it bounced twice and caused what sounded like a handful of pebbles to slide further down the gulley. Instantly the biker was on his feet and curious. Case noticed that he had a large piece of iron pipe in his left hand. The biker moved forward; away from them, down into the gully.

  Kelly moved without being asked. She stepped carefully out into the open and started across the clear area, heading for the small diner to the west. Case followed her, his eyes wary and glued to the biker. But the man moved even closer to the brush. The moonlight glittered off the studs in his black jacket. He walked carefully down the slope, making a fair amount of noise of his own, and vanished into the undergrowth.

  Case moved across the clearing, totally exposed. He caught up with Kelly at the porch to the coffee shop. He pointed further west, toward the grocery. They moved up the darkened street until they were
invisible to both the sentinel and the bikers who had ridden off into the picnic grounds. They jogged to the closed grocery store. Kelly waited for him, assuming he wanted to go right, toward Luke's main garage.

  "No," Case said, sotto voice. "This way."

  "Why?"

  "We're going to wake up the law."

  They moved along the wall of the grocery store and approached Doc Cherry's. It too seemed closed and shuttered. Now only the darkened tourist shop remained between them and the sheriff's office. Case was comforted by the fact that Sheriff Whitley's porch light was on.

  They ran for it.

  Case went up the steps first. He reached up and unscrewed the porch bulb, burning his fingers in the process. He didn't want to take a chance on being seen. Bikers were not known for having much respect for the law. He knocked on the door. Kelly started hopping up and down a little.

  "What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "I need to pee, damn it."

  The door opened. Sheriff Whitley was in his bathrobe. His eyes looked red. Case wondered if he'd been drinking. He frowned. "Mr. Case?"

  "We need to talk to you, Whitley." Case pushed Kelly through the door without asking for permission. Whitley automatically stepped backward. Kelly went right by him, looking for the bathroom. Case stepped inside, closed the door and locked it. The cells were down the hall or maybe out back. He looked around the office. Furniture, books, an ancient television and a chair oozing stuffing. Nothing out of the ordinary. Yet something wrong, he could feel it. What?

  "Do you realize you've got one hell of a situation shaping up out there?"

  Whitley turned his back and walked into the living room. In his uniform he had seemed impressive. In a bathrobe he wasn't. In fact, Whitley didn't look like he'd be much help in a brawl.

  "Yeah, I know."

  The sheriff reached down to turn off the television set. There was an open bottle of brandy on the mantle over the fireplace. Sheriff Whitley faced the fire rather than look Case in the eye. Maybe it was just that he'd been drinking, nothing more.

  "Well what do you plan to do? You've got a gang of bikers rolling into town, a serial killer like Hondo on the loose and you're in here watching television? What the hell is wrong with you?"

  "Hondo a killer?" Whitley turned around. He leaned against the wall. "And wait a second. Take that from the top. The bikers came back?"

  "Are you deaf, too?" Case entered the living room, perched on the edge of the couch. "They tried to kidnap Kelly today. They're talking about having some kind of big party tonight. It's a mess out there."

  Whitley grimaced. "Case, kidnapped is a strong word. Are you sure they really planned to hurt her? After all, up here things are a bit different sometimes. Hey, boys will be boys."

  Case was stunned by the man's indifference. "I'm sure. And what's even worse is that I think Hondo may be involved with them, somehow." He heard the toilet flushing and Kelly washing her hands. For the first time he noticed that Whitley had long hair for a lawman. He also needed a shave. With all that and the drinking, the man was a disgrace.

  "Now back up a bit," Whitley said. "Are you claiming you can prove that Hondo is the one killed all these folks?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "Now that's a tall tale, son. Hell, I've known old Hondo all my life. He may be a bit thick in the head, but it's hard to figure him for a murderer."

  "There's more," Case said. He had already dismissed Whitley as useless and was searching the combination home and office for weapons. He spotted two shotguns on a locked rack and moved that direction, talking as he walked. "But you'll have to talk it over with Doc Cherry."

  "Oh, give me a break. That man and wolf nonsense again?"

  Case felt along the top of the gun rack, searching for the key. Then what Whitley said registered. He turned around. Did Cherry mention talking to the law? He couldn't recall.

  "So you already know about that?"

  Whitley was outlined by fire now, a shape in black, facial features obscured by shadow. He chuckled in a low voice. "Doc is a smart woman, but she sure got that one all wrong."

  "What did she get wrong?"

  "All that crap about government experiments."

  Kelly moved into the room. Case eased her behind him. Meanwhile, the sheriff stretched and yawned. In the odd, rosy firelight, the act seemed to make him both taller and wider. He grunted in low tones.

  "I ever tell you how long I've lived around here, Mr. Case?"

  "Don't think so." Case searched the bottom of the rack as unobtrusively as possible. Still no key. Kelly saw what he was doing. Sensing his nervousness, she joined him and subtly began to search a nearby drawer. Oh, man. This is all going wrong.

  "My great, great grandpa came out west from St. Louis to be a trapper," Whitley said. "Name was John Gilbert Whitley. He lived with the Indians—it was okay to call them that back in the day—and got himself nicknamed Tall Bear. He also took a squaw for his wife. Yessir, Tall Bear had quite a reputation."

  "That's interesting," Case said. His hands were still behind him. He found a key on the side of the desk and slipped it off the nail.

  Whitley laughed. But now the sound was harsh and shrill, more like a bark. He stretched again. And again, somehow he seemed larger, suddenly nearly Case's size. It must be the shadows. Must be.

  "There's no government conspiracy, Mr. Case," Whitley said. He allowed his robe to fall open. His body was covered with a thick, brown carpet of hair and his genitalia were enormous. Kelly glanced at Case, who flinched and clutched his .38 a bit more tightly. We are through the looking glass now, people.

  "Whitley, what are you?"

  "A God!" Whitley let the robe fall to the floor and stepped away from the fire. His fingernails were suddenly longer, curved like talons. Case still couldn't see his face, but it was longer and oddly misshapen. His words continued, but now became somewhat garbled by the new mouth and jaw. His body was rapidly changing shape, growing ever larger.

  "Now, do you see?"

  "Oh, my God." Kelly was both genuinely terrified and acting a bit, buying time. She simultaneously stepped in front of Case and blocked his movements with her body. Covered, he slipped the key into the lock, turned it.

  The sheriff groaned, or perhaps snarled; this time it was hard to be sure. His shape changed yet again. Now he was a huge wolf standing on his hind legs, the head still vaguely resembling that of a man. "You see, one winter night old Tall Bear got bit," Whitley managed. "But he did not die. No, instead they made him one of them. A member of The Clan."

  The wolf-thing crouched to spring.

  Case whirled and went for one of the shotguns and a box of ammunition. The beast that Whitley had become threw back its muzzle and growled. Within the small confines of the office the noise was deafening. Kelly screamed in terror. The creature dropped down onto four legs. Case looked up while still fumbling to get the shells into the gun. The wolf man was baring immense teeth. Drooling. Chuckling.

  Three things happened at once: Joe Case brought up the shotgun just as the front door burst open and someone entered the hallway. At that very same moment, the wolf man jumped to one side and onto the steps leading upstairs. His nostrils flared and his reddened eyes darted back and forth between Case and the shadowy figure in the doorway. All Case could see was a man armed with a hunting rifle.

  The rifle discharged but the werewolf had already turned to run. He raced up the steps with impossible speed. Case heard the sound of shattering glass from the second floor, then feet running across the porch roof and a crash in the dried brush beyond the bathroom. The creature had escaped into the trees. The room went silent. A clock ticked forward, second by second.

  Still stunned, Case grabbed both shotguns and as many shells as he could carry. He grabbed Kelly by the sleeve.

  "Let's go."

  A man spoke. "Not the car. They cut your tires."

  Case turned. Someone stood in the doorway, with blue gun smoke fading in the air around
him. He lowered the hunting rifle. When the man stepped forward Case could see it was Jake. He shrugged. "I'll get back to work come morning."

  "Jake, when we have a second, would you mind telling me what the living hell just happened?"

  "Come on," Jake said. "Jennifer is waiting to take you up into the hills. You'd best hurry, we're plumb near out of time."

  PART THREE

  The Feral

  Now am I

  If a man should speak truly.

  Little better than one of the wicked.

  Shakespeare, Henry IV, I, ii

  24

  "Hail Ohenan! The Council will commence."

  He is their leader, the bearded Alpha. His low voice rumbles like thunder in the foothills. The women stop the drumming and chanting. Much of the sniffing and growling comes to a close. Those who have not changed and still remain in human form sit away from the others on worn blankets. The shape-shifters already gone feral are too far into the change to keep from panting and moving around. One of the females is in heat and the males are all restless…

  How strange the drive to procreate should remain so strong, despite their dwindling numbers and failure to effectively reproduce. In fact, if the Alpha had not called this meeting they would already be fighting each other for a chance to mate. Suddenly a confrontation erupts between two of the younger male wolves who snarl, then leap, twist and turn, snapping at each other.

  "Be still!"

  Some of the older ones nip their flanks and force them back into position. The younger males glare at one another in the firelight, teeth bared, long red tongues lolling; dreaming of exacting a grisly vengeance. Meanwhile, the bitch in heat enjoys taunting them both.

  "It has been decided that we will dispense with the legend of Ohenan this evening. We have no time to spare. Those with cubs are instructed to tell the tale before sleep is upon the young. Is Samson here?"