Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

by Stephen Bills

  Chapter Eighteen: Slaughter

  In the dark of the station, Richard sat on the sergeant’s desk, picking at his teeth, and glanced up when six humans in bathrobes burst in on him. “’Ello boys,” he said. “About time you got back.”

  Conall Quinn stepped forward cautiously. “I’m sorry we couldn’t free you earlier, my lord.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve emaciated myself,” said Richard, nodding behind him. The bars on the station’s only cell were bent far apart. One corpse lay beneath a trail of blood; the other beneath Richard’s feet. Most of it, anyway.

  Richard stood, shook his shoulders, and felt the hair sprout across them. Again he felt his skin stretch like rubber as his whole body swelled up and out. His jaw lengthened and his legs twisted. His hands grew long nails, joints snapped and became claws. Richard stood upright, his denim overalls pressed tight against bulging muscles and dark brown hair.

  The humans watched him for a moment. Even the largest of them was tiny and small beside him. Then they shrugged out of their bathrobes and started jumping up and down on the spot, breathing heavy, making angry faces, and generally acting like they had to gear themselves up for something. A few let out brief grunts and yells. Bones creaked and joints popped and the humans dropped onto their hands and knees and became wolves.

  They smelled weak.

  Richard stalked out the station’s front door, his padded feet landing with quiet clomps as he crossed the parking lot and entered the streets, where he grabbed at the road with his front claws and kicked off with his back legs, moving in long bounds more like pounces than a run.

  The others stumbled behind, but Richard didn’t wait for them. If they couldn’t keep up with the new world, they’d be left behind.

  Scents floated on the wind. Man. Talcum powder. Gun oil. A street ahead. Richard grinned – and he had so much more mouth to grin with – and leapt all the faster. Behind, the wolves darted into side streets. Cowards. Why should they move aside for a human?

  The man rounded the corner and dropped his shotgun in fright.

  Richard landed on the old man’s chest with all fours, rode him to the ground, and tore out his throat. It tasted right: the humans would all fall before him. He’d wipe away the stupid little people and remake the world, just like that prophecy the Mainlanders had kept talking about.

  He raised his furry head and stared around for another challenge, but the street was empty. Huffing, Richard bounded off the corpse and continued toward his farm. When he reached it, he climbed a fencepost and waited, licking his bloodied claws and feeling the gentle wind through his hair.

  Conall arrived first and dropped onto the ground. Richard watched the body contort and most of the fur disappear back into the pink skin. After a few seconds, the change was complete and Conall lay on his back, eyes closed, sucking air deep into his human lungs.

  After a minute, and another two humans almost passing out beside him, Conall said, “Richard… They’ll investigate… his death.”

  “And?” asked Richard. It came out “Arnd?” through his wolfish head, but Richard didn’t change back. He didn’t think he ever would. “D’you fear them?”

  “It wouldn’t have taken long to go around,” Conall said.

  “They should fear you.”

  Did Conall expect them to creep around like mongrels? That wasn’t how Richard was running this pack.

  “We have orders to stay out of sight,” Conall said. “From the duke.”

  Richard sprang off the fence and landed in front of Conall: a foot taller, thick-muscled and drooling. The Mainlanders had talked about the duke being a vampire, whatever that was. They hadn’t sounded impressed. Richard wasn’t either. “You think I take orders from the likes of him?” asked Richard. “It’s time this pack had some real leadership.”

  Conall nodded into Richard’s open maw. After another moment to be sure it wasn’t a trick, Richard turned to walk back toward the fence.

  Then, in one smooth motion, he spun and leapt straight at Conall, mouth wide and snarling. The human was already jumping aside. He landed on his squishy pink flesh then, as panic took over, managed to turn from man to wolf with all the grace of a calf being born.

  They circled.

  Richard eyed Conall, looking for weaknesses, seeing plenty. Conall stared back, not daring to break eye contact. None of the others came to his aid; perhaps Conall had always been a poor leader.

  Richard changed direction and circled the other way. Conall mirrored him. Richard leapt, crossing the ten feet between them in one bound. Conall met him in the air, tooth to tooth, and tumbled down onto all fours. Richard stood steady on his hind legs, grabbed the wolf with both hands, and tossed him aside.

  There was a whimper as Conall landed, but he rolled up in time to dodge a swipe of Richard’s claws and even managed to bite Richard’s hand. Richard knocked him sideways with his other arm. This time, Conall stayed down. Thick cuts on his muzzle soaked Conall’s face with blood.

  The wolf twitched but didn’t stand. Richard was at him again in one jump, but Conall snapped upward, biting, spraying blood. His teeth opened and shut over and again, biting like a crazed thing, sometimes even catching Richard on the arm or leg. Richard opened his mouth, wider and wider, lunged forward, and bit down on Conall’s whole muzzle.

  Conall screamed. And Richard swallowed his screams.

  In an endless second, eye to eye, Conall realised he was beaten. That nothing could save him. That all there was left for him was pain and death.

  Richard growled a laugh and bit harder. Conall shrieked and swiped at Richard with his paws. Blood streamed down Conall’s face into his thick fur. His back feet scrambled for the earth, but Richard held him off the ground by his face.

  Then Richard bit through Conall’s muzzle and spat it away. The wolf dropped, furry head cracking onto the dirt. His face ended with a bloody stump.

  Before Conall could scream, Richard’s monstrous foot came down on his neck with a satisfying crtch.

  The pack all jumped. Richard heard gasps and sobs and saw the older members clench their muscles or begin to shake, or stare anywhere but at their old alpha. Many gazed out over the field; Richard’s ladies were particularly vocal tonight.

  After a minute, one of the humans cleared his throat. “Boss… what next?”

  The former farmer stepped off Conall’s neck and padded toward the still-open fence, raised his snout, and sniffed deeply at the uncooked beef. The herd’s terror smelled good.

  “I’m hungry,” said Richard.