Tamed

by Douglas R. Brown

Aaarrgghh! He’ll never get it. “Grow up, Billy.”

  The light turned green and she pressed the gas pedal. Billy plopped back into his seat and leaned forward to retie his bootlace.

  “You know, Chris, I’m going to give Three Unit a piece of my mind tomorrow about this morphine crap.”

  “Are you sure you can spare it?”

  “Ha, ha. You’re so fu—”

  There was a loud crash, and the truck rocked like it had been struck by a motorcycle or a small car. Christine slammed against the driver’s door and mashed the brakes. Billy’s forehead bounced against the dash.

  “What the hell was that?” he screamed with his hand pressed to his head.

  The truck settled.

  Christine’s heart beat like a hummingbird’s as she gathered herself. She had never wrecked a vehicle before, let alone one of the fire department’s. Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone hurry across the street from the opposite sidewalk. A better look revealed a skinny, blonde cheerleader-type with reengineered boobs. She shouted something, but Christine couldn’t hear what she said through the closed window.

  Christine motioned for her to wait while lowering the window.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the blonde said. The medic shook again, only this time not as violently. Christine flinched and gripped the wheel. With one eye on the blonde, she glanced into the side mirror and gasped.

  Two humongous, dog-like creatures filled the reflection as they tumbled against the rig for a third time.

  This was the first time Christine had ever been so close to one of the creatures from the WereHouse, though she was well aware of what they were. How could she not be, considering the infinite commercials which peppered her nighttime sitcoms? Or the endless, hacky jokes of late-night talk show hosts. These creatures were the latest fad in the same way Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua matched her purse.

  The blonde shouted, “Rusty. Skeeter. Heel!”

  The two creatures ended their playful tussle and tucked their pointed ears against their heads. Christine was stunned at how such a petite, fragile-looking girl could command such a powerful beast by simply raising her voice.

  Billy was nearly salivating in his seat. “Ohhh,” he said. “What I wouldn’t give to have one of those.”

  Christine wasn’t sure if he meant the creatures or the blonde. She brushed him off with a wave. Subconsciously, her hand reached for the power locks. She rubbed her cheek and Billy noticed her usual nervous tick.

  “What’s wrong? You never wanted to pet a werewolf before?” he asked.

  She stared at him like he was crazy. “Why would I want to do that? They’re filthy creatures. Besides, I don’t trust them. I’ve seen An American Werewolf in London, and that’s enough for me.”

  Billy chuckled. “You believe everything you see in the movies? It’s not like they’re changing into people anytime soon, Chris. That was just a movie. This is real.”

  The two werewolves paused in their playful wrestling match while the blonde continued scolding them. They rose onto their hind legs, revealing their true height. One of them was bigger than the other, though they were both taller than any man Christine had ever been around. Their fur was black and they were almost identical as if they were brothers, except that the smaller one had two baseball-sized patches of missing hair on its back.

  The bigger one grabbed the smaller one’s arm to get his attention in the same way a person might, and Christine was shocked at how similar their front paws were to hands. In fact, they basically were hands, only with over-elongated fingers and thick, claw-like nails. The smaller one snapped at him, so he let go of its arm.

  The blonde invited her to meet the creatures, but there was no way Christine was getting out of the truck. Billy, on the other hand, slung his door open.

  “Billy, what are you doing? Stay in here.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “I’ve never been this close to one of ‘em.” He leaped from his seat and raced around the front of the truck.

  One of the werewolves lifted his ears at Billy’s approach. The blonde hissed, “No!” with her finger pointed in a motherly, “you-know-you’re-in-trouble” sort of way.

  The creatures hunched their heads forward with their long, pointy ears draped back along the contour of their skulls. The woman wagged her finger at them.

  “Ma’am?” Billy asked as he approached. “Are these your wolves?”

  She turned to him. “Why, yes. I’m terribly sorry about this. When they start playing, sometimes they get a little rambunctious.”

  Billy circled the beasts, cautious but curious. One of the two, the larger one, glared at him and perked his ears up again. Billy paused. The blonde snapped the creature back in line with a shout. The creature lowered his ears and looked back to the ground.

  “Can I pet them?” Billy asked.

  “Of course. Just don’t pet the back of their necks. They’re sensitive there.”

  Billy reached his hand out with his palm down, like he would approach a strange dog. “What happened to this one’s hair?” he asked as he pet the smaller one between the ears.

  “Hotspots,” she answered. “He’s due for his cream.”

  While Billy pet the creatures, the blonde continued chastising them as if they understood her. “What have I told you about going near the road? No! No! No! You stay in the park or we will not come back.”

  “Do they understand you?” Christine asked through her slightly opened driver’s side window.

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I think they look at me like they understand. Then other times I tell myself they’re just dumb animals.”

  “Aren’t you afraid they might ... I don’t know ... snap or something?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Since the WereHouse went into business, they’ve never reported any problems with aggression. Unless, of course, you pay for one to be a guard wolf, and even then it is 100% controllable by the owner.”

  Billy rubbed the creature’s arm down to its sharp claws. He peered at Christine around the mound of fur. “Chris, come ‘ere. He won’t hurt you.”

  “Go ahead, honey,” the blonde said.

  Christine shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine in here.”

  “It’s okay,” the lady assured.

  With Billy and the woman’s stares, Christine felt pressured to put on her tough act. She was oddly reminded of trying to fit in with the boys in high school and the guys at the fire academy. She reluctantly lowered her window. “I’ll pet him, but I’m not getting out.”

  The woman giggled with a knowing glance at Billy. Billy smiled back at her.

  Oh great, a love connection, Christine thought.

  The blonde reached up to the creature’s collar and jerked his head toward her waist. The creature dropped to all fours and inched forward at her tugs. Christine reached a shaky hand through the open window. The creature leaned his head toward her hand. She brushed between his ears.

  The creature snorted. She yanked her hand back with a slight shriek and Billy chuckled. “He’s just breathin’, Chris.”

  The blonde-haired woman smiled. “He’s right.”

  “So, is that what they’re called?” Billy asked. “Werewolves?”

  “That’s what they are, I suppose, though they don’t turn into humans or anything like that.”

  Billy glanced at Christine with his head tilted and his lips pursed as if to say, “I told you so.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  The woman paused, obviously catching their silent conversation.

  “Go on,” Christine urged. “Just ignore him.”

  “The company calls them wergs. I think it’s just an old name for werewolves.”

  Billy turned back toward the woman. “Wergs, huh? I like it.” She smiled. With a sudden, pained look, Billy turned away and Christine saw his face. His nose twitched and his mouth distorted as he fought back a sneeze. Christine grinned, knowing what was coming next. He covered his face with both hand
s and let loose a series of sneezes that didn’t stop until he reached the seventh rapid-fire blast.

  At first, the blonde tried to bless him after each explosion, but gave up at about number three.

  Christine said, “Stay back so he doesn’t get anything on you.”

  Without hesitation, the woman said, “I think it’s cute.”

  Christine rolled her eyes. Yeah, cute. Nothing says adorable like snot flying out of your nose.

  Billy composed himself. The blonde brushed her finger along his shoulder and said, “We have to be going now. Sorry about the accident.” She dug into her baby blue purse and removed two diamond-studded leather leashes. She reached up toward the smaller creature’s neck. He lowered his head for her. She brushed his neck fur to the side, revealing a bright blue collar which conveniently matched her purse.

  The perfect accessories, Christine thought.

  After the blonde fastened both leashes, the smaller creature dropped to all fours next to his brother and followed behind.

  Billy watched her walk away, no doubt staring at her tight pants. Once she was out of sight, he turned back to the truck. “Shit!” he shouted and smacked the side of the ambulance.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Look at this.”

  Christine opened her door and climbed from the driver’s seat. The side of the truck had sustained a huge, deep dent. She turned back toward the park, but the blonde was nowhere to be seen. “This is your fault, Billy.”

  “My fault?”

  “Yeah. You were so concerned about three pieces of tail that you let her leave without checking the truck.”

  “I’m checking it now,” he said with an audible annoyance.

  “Real great. She’s gone now.”

  Billy hurried to the passenger seat. “Let’s look for her. How hard could it be to find two of those creatures with a hot little blonde?”

  Christine circled the park, but the blonde had vanished like David Copperfield.

  “You’re explaining this,” she said.

  The onboard computer dinged and the dispatcher interrupted Billy’s reply with an announcement of an emergency call.

  Christine shook her head and flipped on the emergency lights and siren. Billy brushed off her annoyance with a dismissive wave and settled in for the ride.

  4

  TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS

  WITH the werewolf incident a couple of weeks behind her and the pile of paperwork for the damaged medic truck finished, Christine dredged through another usual shift at the firehouse.

  It was 3:30 in the morning and she couldn’t get back to sleep after another bogus “person down” call. Checking the sleeping drunk in the pouring rain left her just damp enough to be uncomfortable, but not so drenched that she needed to change.

  She flipped on her nightlight in her private bunk room. The biggest benefit of being a woman on the male-dominated fire department was that she didn’t have to share the jockstrap-smelling bunk room with the other guys. It wasn’t that she was prudish or afraid she might accidentally see one of her male co-workers in his drawers, but that she was secretly afraid of the dark. Actually, afraid was the wrong word—that’s how she would have described it when she was twelve after her dad left for the military. Anxious. That was a better word for how she now felt in the dark. Having her own bunk room allowed her to keep the nightlight secret from the others, which saved her a ton of razzing, she was sure.

  Before the “person down” call, she had gotten enough sleep not to be exhausted, but not enough sleep to be rested. Like with most nights after a 3:00 a.m. run, she lay in her hard, army-like cot and tossed and turned, unable to go back to sleep. Though her eyelids were heavy, her mind was too scattered. Finally, she opted for a peanut butter sandwich and some TV.

  She channel-surfed through boring infomercials, from one loud-mouthed salesman shouting about the latest must-have absorbent towel to another who told her about the best way to wash your car.

  What I wouldn’t do for TiVo.

  The news channels all repeated the same garbage about the latest politician and his hooker scandal. One station actually had one of the alleged whore’s previous johns on for an interview. Unbelievable. Famous for paying for sex.

  Christine stuffed the last piece of crust into her mouth and decided to flip the channel one final time before she would try her luck at sleep again.

  Another werg commercial. They’re everywhere. She even saw one during the last Super Bowl, which was a good indication the creatures were here to stay.

  The handsome, dark-haired announcer asked, “Tired of paying monthly fees for a security system that doesn’t get the police to your house until after the crime has been committed? Afraid your Doberman pinscher may lick an intruder more than he scares him away?

  “You’ve no doubt heard fables of werewolves and vampires and boogiemen.”

  The screen cut away from the announcer’s square jaw and gorgeous brown eyes to footage of a fenced-in corral surrounded by stables full of large cages.

  The hunk’s voice continued over the images. “How would you like to own your very own, pureblood werepet? These magnificent cousins to the wolf are safe, tame, and 100% loyal. One of these werepets can be yours for the very reasonable price of $250,000!”

  That was all she had to hear. That price certainly put the creatures out of her budget, not that she would ever buy one anyway.

  The picture closed in on the cages. The handsome host walked into the shot, which kept Christine watching the commercial longer than she normally would have. He opened a cage. A snap of his fingers brought a set of green-tinted eyes from the darkness. The eyes were followed by a furry beast similar to the two she had met a couple of weeks before. The werewolf slunk from the cage with his ears back and his head tucked below his shoulders. He knelt and nudged his massive body against the host’s hip. Here was a creature that could devour this man in seconds, yet instead of a mauling him, it cowered at his side, waiting for his next command.

  The host continued his pitch. “These creatures are just like dogs, only smarter. Not to mention safer. With a dog, you may get a pit bull puppy that grows up to maul your nephew or the neighbor’s kid. These wolves are 100% guaranteed to never show aggression, unless you want the premium security package, but we’ll talk about that later.” He paused with a smile that could sell her season football tickets—and she hated football. Then he continued, “Unlike dogs, these gentle giants are fully trained and completely safe prior to leaving the farm.”

  The camera switched to an aerial view of the property. At its center was a two-story barn attached to a building similar to a strip mall and another, larger two-story office building. A long gravel drive led to the closed front gate while a hilly forest surrounded the rear. The view from the camera-mounted helicopter grew distant, revealing creatures milling in and out of the forest and the corral. The creatures could not be confused for anything but wergs, as the blonde called them. Along the side of the long building was the large stable-like area shown earlier. The stables and the corral were enclosed within a wooden fence. It looked like a regular horse ranch, though there were no horses in sight.

  Once the handsome host wrapped up his sales pitch and the credits filled the screen, her eyelids felt heavy enough that she thought she might be able to get back to sleep. She hurried to her bunk, took off her boots, and curled up beneath her blanket. She sighed, looking forward to the coming rest. The nightlight faded behind the blur of sleepiness. She had just entered the dazed world between sleep and consciousness when the dreaded EMS tones blared over the PA system. She groaned, cursed beneath her breath, and slipped on her boots again.

  5

  DEFECTIVE

  THE house sat on a large property at the bottom of a long and creepy gravel drive within a cove of trees. The nearest neighbor was at least a couple of acres away. The rain had stopped, but the trees still dripped water into puddles of soggy dirt.

  There was no activity
around the house, nor any obvious movement from the dark rooms behind the tightly drawn curtains. The half-moon offered enough light that Christine could see the clearing surrounding the house was empty, but that didn’t ease her nerves.

  She hated calls like these when little was known other than the address and the fact that someone had pushed an I’ve-fallen-and-I-can’t-get-up medical alarm. But this one seemed even creepier than the normal. A cautious twinge at her neck gave her pause, but she knew better than to let Billy see her trepidation. He would razz her with sexist “I’ll protect you” comments for the rest of the shift and probably the next if she showed any hesitation or fear.

  Her self-preservation instinct won the battle with her uncertainty. “Billy?” she asked. “Maybe we should call for an Engine company or even the police before we go in there.”

  She scanned the trees, which flickered in the medic’s emergency lights.

  Billy looked to her with surprise. “It’s just a medical alarm, Chris. Probably false. Some old bird probably rolled over onto her button. Look, there aren’t any lights on. What’s up with you tonight?”

  She rubbed the back of her neck, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Something just doesn’t feel right.” She climbed out to meet Billy in front of the medic. He carried their medical kit and a small flashlight. Her breath hovered in a cloud in front of her mouth before dissipating in the cold air.

  Billy grinned. She lowered her head and focused on the ground where she walked. Billy stepped in front of her, stopping her. He leaned toward her and looked into her eyes while still wearing his grin, the same grin that always calmed her when her phobias crept in. “Are you afraid of a little dark?” he asked.

  Christine frowned and pushed him aside. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  She crowded past him and onto the front porch. She rang the bell and knocked on the door. “Hello,” she hollered. “Fire Department. Anyone home?”

  She rattled the handle—it was locked.

  Billy keyed his radio mic and said, “Medic 22 to Dispatch.”

  “Go ahead, 22,” the cold, distant voice of their dispatcher replied.