Get Bent!

by Rick Gualtieri

  Like now, for instance.

  The wolf charging in from my flank was probably thinking they’d tackle me, knock me senseless against the asphalt – assuming their initial hit didn’t outright kill me – and then finish me off, earning themselves a notch on their werewolf bedpost.

  There was little doubt this one was going for the kill. That much was apparent in the split second before we collided, at least three hundred pounds of muscle looking to slam into me at greater than twenty miles per hour.

  I leapt into its clutches as it reached me, the force of its inertia enough to almost knock the wind out of my lungs. But I was made of hardier stuff than most, and before it could bring its natural weapons to bear, I wrapped my arms around its thick neck and twisted my body, overbalancing the creature.

  My grip was rock solid and, as it went down, I rolled, pulling its body over me and allowing me to land atop it as we skidded to a halt ... leaving me relatively unscathed.

  That wouldn’t last for long, though. I could already feel its claws reaching for purchase. Having it in a headlock put me dangerously close to its jaws. Almost as if in response, it snarled furiously and snapped at me ... missing, but drenching me in drool. Yuck!

  Damn these things were big. Strong or not, it was an effort to keep my comparatively short arms wrapped around its thick neck. But that was okay, because I only needed to hold on long enough to give it one good twist.

  Crack!

  I kept the pressure on for several more seconds until I was certain it was over, then let go and pulled myself back to my feet. That one wasn’t quite as kind to me as my previous scuffles this night. I had a feeling come the morning I was going to have some nice new bruises.

  That wouldn’t do. I needed to be smarter. Damage tended to be cumulative. The more battles I fought, the more banged up I was going to get. And the more banged up I got, the better chance that each fight would be my last.

  Much as I wanted to fool myself into thinking I was a one-woman army, I knew better. I was more than capable of taking care of myself, but it wasn’t just my life at stake. Allies and weapons were needed if the tide was going to be turned and this town saved.

  Riva and her family were safe for now. It was time to focus my attention toward the greater good.

  CHAPTER 31

  “God bless you, whoever you are!”

  I didn’t stop to acknowledge Mrs. Jalob’s thanks as I stepped through the broken door back into the dark night. There was no time, and I had a feeling that saying too much was risky.

  As much of a rush as I’d been in, a nagging bit of practicality had hit me once I’d finally reached my home. Adopting a bit of positivity and assuming at least some of the town survived the night, what then? There would no doubt be some people, outside of mine and Riva’s family, pointing fingers my way. How was I to explain things without being labeled a freak or, worse, having enough publicity thrown my way that the threat to the west of town didn’t nuke us from orbit?

  Much as I knew that I’d be pushed to my limits fighting a small army of werewolves tonight, I didn’t relish the thought of doing the same against a battalion of witches tomorrow.

  The solution had been simplicity itself. I’d raced inside, pushing aside the desire to stay there and hide, and grabbed a leather jacket and an old black t-shirt – both from my short-lived Goth phase. Fortunately, the danger awaiting outside my walls left little time to rue my days as a fashion nightmare.

  Luckily, I remembered a trick Chris had shown me. A couple of years back he’d been all into kung fu movies, during which time he’d shown me how to tie a shirt around my head in a manner that made it look like a cut-rate ninja mask. Never thought I’d say this, but thank goodness for dorky little brothers.

  My disguise firmly in place, I’d headed out to the garage to see what surprise Mom had left behind.

  Turns out it was a pretty nasty one.

  There, stuffed into a duffle bag that had been shoved into a hidden alcove in our garage, had been a dozen or so spikes. With handles made of steel, the ends terminated in eight inches of sharpened silver. There was no mistaking what these were for. This was not something you put out on the table when company paid a visit. Nobody would be buttering any bread with these babies. No, there was only one practical use for weapons like these – hunting werewolves.

  There was one brief moment where I wondered whether Dad knew about this cache, but I pushed it aside. No matter the case, I was happy to have them as I locked up and stepped out onto the front lawn, eyeing the garden gnomes standing in silent vigil near the bushes.

  “Don’t suppose you fellas want to help?” They continued to stare at me with their creepy dead eyes. “Didn’t think so.”

  There wasn’t much time to wonder whether my newly acquired weapons would actually work before I was forced to put them to the test. From down the block had come the sound of splintering wood, a snarl of anger, and a cry for help.

  It hadn’t been particularly sporting of me, but I’d raced in and jabbed the bastard in the back with a spike, taking it out nearly instantly. The wolf barely had time to let out a yelp before it had fallen to the ground dead.

  The cranky old woman who lived in the home, Mrs. Jalob, was unhurt, thank goodness. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do much more than tell her to hide before the sounds of more destruction caught my ear, followed closely behind by gunfire.

  The opening volleys were apparently done. The brunt of the war had descended upon High Moon.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  My heart was heavy as I finally closed in on the main thoroughfare of my small town. I’d managed to take out two more werewolves since saving Mrs. Jalob, but now the grim reality of the situation was made clear to me.

  Both of those wolves had already gotten their pound of flesh and more. Mauled bodies lay on front lawns and their fur was practically drenched in blood by the time I engaged them.

  With silver in hand, it didn’t take me long – one impaled through the skull with a spike, the other shanked through its ribcage. But in the short time it took to finish them off, it became abundantly clear that my uncle wasn’t playing games.

  Before that moment, I’d housed a secret hope that perhaps he’d been merely trying to scare me into acquiescing to his demands. But all of that was gone now, and with it went any last vestiges of mercy that I could show these monsters who masqueraded as men during the day.

  The bastard wanted a war, but he was too chickenshit to start one with Mom’s people, instead taking on what he thought to be an easily winnable skirmish.

  It was time to teach him the error of his ways.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  There was something big going down over on the rather unimaginatively named Main Street. It was the heart of the town – home of the police station, fire department, borough hall, and myriad shops that ran the length of it on both sides.

  I had a feeling as I closed in that whatever happened there would most likely determine whether High Moon would live or die.

  Snarls and howls filled the night from up ahead. They were answered in turn by gunfire, shouts, sirens, and the revving of engines.

  As much as I wanted to leap into the fray, a silver spike in each hand, I forced myself to slow down.

  Whoever was out there fighting, there was little doubt their dander was up. It wouldn’t take much for someone to spot me, clad in a black ninja mask, and decide that the safer course of action was to shoot first and not bother with the questions.

  That wouldn’t do any of us much good. I instead crept along the side of a building, an old pawn shop that had been here since before I was born and would likely still be here long after I was dust. Reaching the edge, I peeked out and around. Through some bit of luck, I was behind the line of fire for the home team.

  Cop cars, SUVs, and even the town’s few firetrucks had been spread out as a barricade across the street, their flashers all on and lighting up the night. More vehicles – pickup trucks and cars – were park
ed behind them.

  It seemed that not only had the town officials realized something was amiss, but several of the locals had as well. In addition to the police, I spied Jeb Peterson, who owned the local pharmacy, standing by their side with a shotgun in hand. Next to him was Mr. McGreevy. He was Riva’s elderly neighbor, although apparently not too old to handle a rifle.

  Further down, I was surprised to see Mrs. Carnesworth helping out, too. The assistant vice principal was holding a pistol that seemed far too big for her tiny frame and squeezing off shot after measured shot, looking like she was Dirty Harry’s little sister. Having seen her over in Morganberg the month prior, I’d been wondering if maybe she was on team Craig. Good to know that wasn’t the case.

  I recognized more and more faces in the crowd, all doing what they could to defend their town.

  A smile crossed my face as I realized my uncle’s mistake. It was still early. Night had only fallen a short while ago. Many of the people of High Moon were still out and about, either working late or heading into town for dinner when the wolves had attacked. So incensed had the pack probably been at me skipping out on my wedding – oh, and leaving the groom dead – that they’d wasted no time heading here.

  Had they waited, there would have doubtlessly been a smaller response as many more would have been home already. But they hadn’t and, as a result, I now saw that there was cause to hope.

  But I likewise saw that hope might quickly be quashed. I arrived just in time to spy a bulky figure on the opposite side of the street slipping through the shadowy spaces between buildings. The werewolves might look like oversized bipedal dogs, but they thought like people. And people were crafty when it came to war. While the townsfolk were focused on a frontal assault, some of the wolves were sneaking around to hit them at their flank.

  That had to be Craig’s plan. The howls and snarls rising up beyond the police barricade told me there was a decent amount of fur headed this way, but they were bait, a distraction, while a few slipped behind the lines and tore the resistance to shreds.

  It was a good plan. Evil as fuck all, but good.

  Pity I was there to throw a wrench into it.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Malevolent yellow eyes stared from the alleyway nearest the town’s defenders. Two of the local police force were close by, but their attention was diverted elsewhere. Too bad for the wolf in question mine wasn’t. Securing both my mask and bag of weapons, I took off running across the street with a spike in hand.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “Hey! Come back here!”

  So much for my ninja mask actually making me invisible to the untrained eye. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to stop for introductions. I had to hope that it was painfully obvious to those with guns that I wasn’t a werewolf. Good thing I’d shaved my legs this morning.

  The cops near the alleyway noticed me heading their way. They immediately scrambled for their sidearms.

  Oh crap! This was going to be close.

  I jumped up onto the hood of the police cruiser parked near them and launched myself over their heads.

  They spun to follow, just in time to see me stab the werewolf that had been seconds away from turning them into human guacamole. I slammed the silver stake through its chest hard enough to pin it to the side of the nearest building.

  The wolf let out a choked howl, then fell limp.

  Sadly, there wasn’t time to do a victory dance as another beast followed the first, charging out of the alleyway toward the person it no doubt perceived to be the biggest threat. One guess who that was.

  As it closed the distance, I yanked the bag full of metal spikes off my shoulder and swung it like a club – its weight giving it some serious heft. It collided with the wolf’s head, sending it staggering back several steps.

  Good timing on my part, because it seemed as if everyone else picked that moment to open fire.

  CHAPTER 32

  I hit the pavement, throwing my hands over my head and hoping that no stray shots managed to do Craig’s job for him.

  It was a near eternity later when the gunfire finally petered off. By then I was pretty certain my ears were bleeding. Mind you, I’d take that over the rest of me.

  “It’s down!” I heard someone shout.

  I dared to lift my head, happy to see the vast majority of the defenders seemed more focused on the werewolf than the strange masked girl who’d appeared from out of nowhere.

  The wolf in question looked like it had just taken a leisurely stroll through the North Korean demilitarized zone. Half its face was missing and one arm had been blown clean off. There was little doubt at least some of the weaponry on display was considerably more powerful than Mr. Kale’s little handgun.

  I remembered what Mom had told me about werewolves and catastrophic damage. If this thing – looking pretty goddamned dead as it was – managed to get back up and walk it off, then the town’s only real hope was for its citizens to run as fast as their legs could carry them.

  I continued to stare at it, waiting to see if it showed any signs of life, when hands grabbed me and pulled me to my feet.

  “Who the hell are you supposed to be, Batgirl?”

  “More like your friendly neighborhood dog catcher,” I replied to the police officer giving me the once over. I’d seen him around town but didn’t know his name, which meant he likely didn’t recognize my voice. I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at the dead wolf hanging off the building and then reached for the bag I’d brought with me.

  “Nice and slow there.”

  “If you really think I’m the worst threat here tonight, then by all means open fire.” I bent down and unzipped the bag, realizing that was far from the most intelligent answer I could have given. Since no bullets perforated my brain pan, though, I guess it got my point across. Mind you, the irony was that I potentially was the biggest threat in town, but perhaps it was best to keep that to myself.

  I showed him one of the spikes. “These are silver.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  My answer was to again point at the werewolf bodies behind me. “You realize those aren’t Halloween decorations, right?”

  Ralph Johnson, the chief of police, picked that moment to walk over. He was a fixture in town and had even been in attendance during my failed attempt to win the state championship. But hopefully my year away at college had dulled his remembrance of my former status as a local celebrity, especially since I’d had a run in with him a month prior. “What have you got there, Sullivan?”

  The officer who’d been grilling me turned to him with a sheepish grin. “Um, silver stakes.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Chief Johnson replied with a shrug. “Makes as much fucking sense as anything else in this goddamned town tonight.” He turned to me. “You, Ninja Girl, I saw what you did to that thing. So let’s cut right through the bullshit. If you know something, you’re gonna tell me. Are we clear?”

  I appreciated him getting right to the point. It was one of the reasons he kept getting reelected. He had a reputation for a no-nonsense attitude, keeping a cool head, and having an open mind – a rarity in rural Pennsylvania, but just what this town needed on a night such as this.

  Before I could say anything, he turned and barked some orders, making sure his men and the volunteers kept their guns loaded and their eyes open. Judging from the pitch of howls rising up from further down the street, things weren’t about to let up for those holding the line.

  Then, back to me, he cocked his head expectantly.

  “The movies are right. Silver works,” I said, trying to lower my voice an octave. “Hand these around. If any of those things get close enough or if they’re still twitching after you’ve gunned them down, stake them.”

  “Through the heart?” the first cop asked.

  Johnson snorted laughter. “That’s vampires, genius.”

  I shook my head and shrugged. “I have no clue. All I know is that these monsters heal really fast and it
takes a lot to keep them down. But if you use silver, it’s a different story.”

  “And you know this how?” I glanced back over my shoulder again to which Chief Johnson replied, “Okay, I get the point. Fine. Either way, it’s better than trying to fight these bastards hand to hand.”

  Staying calm and collected was one thing, but damn, this guy was stone cold. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re keeping an awfully level head considering that we’re fighting werewolves here.”

  Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Same could be said of you, Mystery Lady. All I’ll say is that anyone who’s served on the force in High Moon long enough tends to develop a tolerance for the weird and unusual. And that’s all you need to know. So what’s your story? Any reason why you’re running around out here after dark with a shirt wrapped around your head? You recently convert to Islam or something?”

  I raised the corner of my mouth in a half smile, although he couldn’t see it. Rather than waste time on words, I stepped to the police cruiser I’d vaulted over, grabbed hold of the rear door, and ripped it clean off its hinges with a screaming squeal of metal.

  Officer Sullivan let out a quick eep of surprise, which he quickly tried to cover up as a cough. As for the chief, he merely frowned. “You do realize that’s public property, right?”

  “Sorry. Figured it was the quickest way to get my point across. Besides, I’m pretty sure we’ll have bigger things to worry about by the time this night is over. ”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  When the wolves hit the blockade on Main Street, they hit it hard. But the people of High Moon weren’t quite ready to give up so easily. More townsfolk came to bolster us as what sounded like World War III broke loose.

  Chief Johnson did a hell of a job ordering the counterattack, not hurt by the fact that a good chunk of the population were either part-time hunters, sportsmen, or skeet shooters. Go figure. It was one of the few times I wanted to cheer the good ole boy mentality.