by Terry Yates
The creature glared murderously at the camera as if it knew that Simon would be watching, then stood up, disappearing out of camera range. He heard a few seconds of growling, followed by his own voice screaming “What the shit!” He listened to a few seconds of the ensuing melee, and then pressed the ‘stop’ button. Shocked, he dropped the camera, which bounced off of his lap and onto the floor. Werewolves were real! They were real! He’d just seen a man turn into one. He had absolute, concrete proof right on the floor next to him. He had it on video, for shit’s sake!
He tried to remember what he knew about werewolves. They get all hairy and grow fangs when the moon is full, and kill anything human or otherwise that crosses their path. He’d always heard that there was usually a dollop of truth behind every myth or legend, but this wasn’t a dollop of truth, this was a genuine, truly original, A-Number one, fact! They were real…and if memory served him correctly, if someone survives the werewolf’s bite, they themselves become a werewolf. Scott had been bitten and survived to become a werewolf, which meant…he would become one. Simon smiled at the thought. He was going to become a werewolf. Simon Shoals was going to become a werewolf…an immortal creature…well, not immortal, but hard to kill. Didn’t werewolves live forever if they weren’t killed by a silver bullet, or in Scott’s case, beheading? He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes, and grinned. He was trying to imagine his love of carnage in a hairy, eight-foot tall, fang bearing body. He would be a real lobo. He was getting hard just thinking about it. Simon lifted his right hip, and slowly reached his hand down behind his thigh, running his hand across the denim until he came to the tear in his pants. He gently put his fingers inside the tear. He felt around for the wound, slowly and gently running his hand across the surface of the gaping hole. He smiled. It felt smaller…it actually felt smaller. It was healing. He reached down and felt his calf. Same thing. Both wounds felt significantly healed in just the last few minutes. It wasn’t much, mind you, but enough to show Simon that he was becoming…he supposed…immortal.
CHAPTER 10
It was nightfall when Kyler heard the helicopter. Willette and Hebman were doing night rounds, so he had the room to himself. He had been watching the news. The President had said that more aid to Florida, Alabama, and Mississippi was forthcoming. He said that he was doing everything he could to drop the price of gasoline, but that it might take some time. Feeding, clothing, and getting medicine to the refugees was the most pressing thing on his agenda. More National Guardsmen were on the way. Great. After the presidential news, he saw a report about five hikers who had been killed in central Texas by what looked to be a pack of wild animals…possibly wolves. Wolves? That’s twice now in a few days that a pack of wolves had killed a fairly large group of people. He remembered reading about the first killings in the paper just a few days ago. It was an item about three hunters in Mexico who had been savagely killed by what was believed to be wolves. A fourth hunter was missing and believed dead, probably dragged off or eaten by the wolves. The report had said that there were at least three sets of tracks…two extremely large, and the other very tiny, possibly belonging to a cub. When he’d first read the blurb, he couldn’t help but think of Marcus and Shelly Dixon, and, of course, little Oliver Dixon.
Kyler walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out onto the small homemade porch. He saw the lights from the helicopter as it landed on the pad fifty yards away. He watched as refugees, celebrities, and even soldiers, began to make their way toward the place where their savior was going to emerge from his fiery chariot and make everything all right. He put his hands in his pockets and watched as the giant throng continued to move. He should probably go check on Michael, who was happily packing what few possessions he had. He subconsciously hoped that people would notice the ragged clothes Arnold Blum’s son was wearing as his parents walked around like JFK and Jackie.
As the crowd surged toward the landing helicopter, Kyler stepped off of the porch and began walking toward Michael’s tent, passing happy face after happy face. When he reached Michael’s tent, he saw that Sam, FranAnne, and Zack were already there.
“What’s up, Doc?” Sam asked, smiling as he told the oldest doctor joke in the world.
“Har. Har,” he shot back. He looked at Michael who almost seemed giddy at the prospect of leaving the last few weeks of his life behind him. “All packed?” he asked.
“There’s not much to pack, Doctor Kyler,” Michael retorted.
“We’re sure gonna miss him, aren’t we, Doc?” FranAnne said to Kyler, smiling, and placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“That we are, my friend.”
“It’s not going to be the same without you here, Little Brother,” Sam said, picking up Michael’s duffle bag, and slinging it over his shoulder. “We’ve sort of gotten used to having you hop around all over the place, haven’t we, Zack?”
They all looked at Zack, who seemed to be in his own little world. The silence snapped Zack to.
“Hmm…oh yeah…we’re gonna miss you, Bro,” he said, trying to smile, but not having much luck.
No longer smiling, Michael looked down.
“I’d just like to say…” he started. “I’d just like to say how much I appreciate what you’ve all done for me.”
Michael looked up to see Kyler, Sam, FranAnne, and Zack all looking at him with somber expressions.
“I would’ve never made it off No Name Island if it hadn’t been for you guys…and Miss LeMarque, Col Potts…and…Lauren, of course,” he continued. “And the ones who didn’t make it off the island. Sgt. Cohen, Mr. and Mrs. O’Hearley, Private Hawkins…”
Michael tried to continue, but his voice began to crack.
“It’s okay, Mike,” Sam said, no longer smiling, but like the rest of them, on the verge of tears.
“No…please,” Michael pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. “I have to do this. I have to tell you guys that…well…you’re special…to me anyway. I’ve never had close friends. I’ve had friends, but they were always friends that my parents chose for me. None of them would ever have done what you did for me back there. You could’ve all left me to fend for myself, but you didn’t. All of you risked your own lives to save mine…and well…I just want to thank you for it.”
Tears were running down not only his cheeks now, but the rest of them as well.
“What about you?” FranAnne asked, handing him his crutches, while simultaneously wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Ma’am?” Michael asked.
“According to Lauren, you were her rock,” FranAnne continued.
“Her rock? I caused her appendix to burst.”
“But you were there for her when she needed someone,” Kyler said, stepping up to the boy, wiping his own tears away. You told her everything would be okay. You kept her from chasing after her mother when she led the werewolves away from you both. That’s a hero in my book, Mike.”
“Mine too, Bro,” Zack piped in, extending his hand to the boy. “You helped me, too.”
“You? Had did I help you?” he asked.
“You stuck by me after I lost my whole family. I’m not sure I could’ve gotten through it without you.”
“You became MY hero when you kicked that big, cap wearing bastard in his already broken nose,” Sam piped in.
“Thanks,” Michael squeaked, the words becoming caught in his throat.
There was an awkward silence in the tent, the five of them looking everywhere but at each other.
“Well,” Michael started, “I better get up to the helicopter…thingy…”
“I believe it’s called a pad,” Kyler said, smiling, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How ‘bout a wheelchair ride up there, m’laddo? I think I can scare one up somewhere.”
“No thank you, Dr. Kyler,” Michael replied. “I think my parents would rather see me walking.”
Kyler started to speak. He wanted to tell him to screw his self-serving parents. He wanted to te
ll him that this wasn’t about them, but about him, but he couldn’t. Instead, he just nodded, and rubbed the boy’s mousy brown hair. Zack opened the tent flap, and stood there.
“Well…” was all that Michael could say.
He put his crutches under his arms and silently made his way to the flap. He turned around, taking one last look at what he’d been trying to get away from for what seemed like an eternity. He didn’t know why, but he was going to miss it. He had made friends…friends that had stood by him…friends that he would never forget. He looked up at the somber faces. They were going to miss him. They were really going to miss him.
“Cheer up, Guys,” he told him. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
“Of course, we will,” Kyler told him.
“Just one more thing, Guys, huh?”
“What’s that?” FranAnne asked.
“There’s one more friend that I need to say goodbye to.”
“Col. Potts?” Kyler asked.
Michael chuckled. “Col. Potts doesn’t really seem to be the goodbye type.”
“Don’t be so hard on him, Michael,” FranAnne told him, remembering standing alongside Potts when the two of them fought off the werewolf. “He’s really not so bad.”
“Oh, I know that, Private Fulton,” Michael came back. “If it weren’t for him, none of us would probably be alive right now.
“Here. Here,” Kyler said.
“So, who is that you’ve got to say goodbye to?” Zack asked.
CHAPTER 11
The MP unlatched the gate, and the five walked through. They were barely inside the fence, when they were met by the excited Joe, their golden-eyed, nub-tailed, golden lab-Rhodesian Ridgeback mixed breed dog, who looked like he lost a bout with a weed eater, his face and body scarred, but not his soul. He jumped at FranAnne first. She had walked through the gate first and he was on her before she knew what was happening. He jumped up on her legs, his nub wagging at an ungodly rate of speed. They hadn’t been able to visit him in the last few days, so his excitement was at fever pitch. He moved from FranAnne to Zack, to Kyler, to Sam, and lastly to Michael who was the last through the gate. He jumped on each and every one of them, saving the biggest greeting for the twelve-year old boy. Michael laughed as he put both crutches under one arm, and stood on his good leg as the canine jumped at him, licking his hand, and sticking his nose in his crotch. Joe growled happily as he tugged on Michael’s trouser leg. Kyler, FranAnne, Sam, and Zack watched the boy laugh as he dropped down onto his butt and was immediately tongue assaulted by the dog. Michael tried to turn his head, but resistance was futile. Joe licked his whole face from chin to nose to forehead.
“Mike’s covered with enough of Joe’s saliva to kill five werewolves,” Sam said, laughing.
“Maybe ten,” FranAnne threw in, reaching down and scratching the top of Joe’s head while he continued to lick Michael.
The camp kept Joe in a twenty-five by twenty-five grass enclosure. None of them liked the fact that he couldn’t roam around the camp on his own, but as pens go, it was a nice one, equipped with large food and water bowls, and an abundance of chew toys, which he rarely played with alone, but when he had visitors, he never tired of chasing the ball…though not very far…or playing tug-o-war with a knee sock stuffed with other socks. He had it good. Most of the dogs, cats, and other animals were penned up together, in some instances, overcrowded pens. He had a place of his own, courtesy of Gen. Mueller who seemed to have a certain respect for the dog. He was walked three times a day for an hour. He was also allowed to play with the refugee children, so all in all, he had it pretty good.
“Look at him,” Michael said, finally pulling the dog’s face away from him, and holding his face in his hands.
The werewolves had left a scar above one eye, two on his nose, and his left ear had a large piece missing. Claw marks covered his whole right side from his shoulder across to his flank. The claw marks were huge. They were so large that the so called experts said that the marks had to belong to a bear, even though most any laymen could tell that they were too far apart to be a bears. Bear claws are at the top of the paw, much like the four human fingers. They had a fifth claw where the human thumb would be, but their top claws didn’t stretch out as far as Joe’s scars did. His scars looked like a giant human hand with eight-inch nails raked them across the dog’s body. Both legs, front and back, were also covered with the giant scars. When the MPs walked him, people looked at Joe and remarked how ugly he was, or how he looked like a patchwork quilt, but those people didn’t know what the canine had done for the island refugees.
“It may sound strange,” Michael said, once again trying to hold back Joe’s mighty tongue. “But he is the most beautiful dog in the world to me.”
“Me too,” chimed in the other four at the same time.
“I wish I could take him with me.”
“We wish you could, too,” Kyler replied. “He’d have so much fun being your dog.”
“He would never be my dog…not really…not completely.
“What do you mean?” Kyler asked.
“We all know whose dog he really is,” the boy continued. “Lauren’s.”
“Oh…I don’t know-“ Kyler started.
“No, it’s okay,” Michael interrupted. “I know he loves me…he loves all of us…even Col. Potts…but his heart belongs to Lauren.”
They couldn’t disagree with him. Joe did love all of them…even Potts…but he had taken a shine to Lauren immediately. They had been inseparable until, for whatever reason, he wasn’t there for her when the werewolves had killed Ariella O’Hearley. He had disappeared and Lauren hadn’t forgiven him. She’d had nothing to do with him since they’d been rescued. Kyler had done his best to explain to her that Joe not being there wasn’t necessarily his fault, but she was having none of it. He’d deserted her when she needed him, and she had made him pay for it. It tore them all apart to see him craving her affection. Whenever they used to eat together, he would try to nuzzle her hand, but she would always move it. As a matter of fact, she wouldn’t look at him at all. Kyler guessed that if she did, those golden eyes of his would melt her icy heart.
“I hope she’s all right,” Michael said, wistfully, he himself now looking into the dog’s eyes. “She’s only eleven.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Kyler lied. He was as worried about her as anyone, but now wasn’t the time to show it…not to Michael anyway. The kid was about to leave the only friends he had, and he wasn’t about to add onto the sadness.
“I think it’s probably about that time, Little Brother,” Sam said, smiling sadly.
Michael nodded his head as Zack reached his hand down to him and pulled him up off of the floor. FranAnne handed him his crutches, which he once again placed under his arm. He reached down one last time and scratched Joe’s head. The dog seemed to sense that Michael was about to leave, and gave a small whine.
“Bye, Boy,” he said. “Wish you were going with me.” He looked around. “I wish you were all going with me.”
With this, he put his crutches under his arms, turned around, and walked out to the gate.
CHAPTER 12
There must’ve been two thousand people surrounding the makeshift helicopter pad by the time the five of them arrived.
“Come on, people,” said Sam annoyed. “Let us through.”
They moved through the throng of Blum disciples, making their way through any small gaps that they could find. When they reached the front, the pad lights and the television lights lit up the place like a Christmas tree. There before them, still on the pad, stood Arnold Blum II in all of his glory. Kyler had to admit that the man was impressive. He was tall, about Kyler’s height…early forties…salt and pepper hair…white teeth. Kyler wanted to vomit. No wonder everyone was so attracted to the guy. He was attractive. He managed to pull off a big, white-toothed smile, while at the same time, show sympathy and heartache for the people who had lost everything. He had the kin
d of smile that could light up an opium den.
Next to him stood Martha Blum, Michael’s mother. She was also dressed to the nines, with a smart pantsuit that showed her affluence, but didn’t look like it was made at Saks Fifth Avenue. She had short, brown hair, and looked to be about the same age as her husband. She smiled and waved at the crowd, but she didn’t quite have the same “I love you all so much” smile that Arnold Blum had.
Kyler looked down at Michael who seemed to be in as awe of his parents as everyone else. His eyes were wide and his mouth open. He’d probably never seen them in this light…as saviors of the meek and downtrodden. Kyler put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Michael looked up at him and smiled, a small tear forming in his eyes. He was going home, wherever that was now. Kyler motioned his head toward the helicopter pad. Michael nodded and began to move through the crowd. Kyler took his duffel bag from Sam and began to follow him.
Martha Blum was the first to notice Michael as they made their way to the platform steps. She immediately stopped smiling when she saw him, not sure if she was seeing her son or someone else. The lights were bright, and it was hard to see anything but silhouettes. She knew that he was here, but she wasn’t sure if they would meet him at the landing pad or at the reception. Kyler took the boy’s crutches and held his hand out for Michael to take, so that he could hop up the three small steps on one foot, while he braced him, but Michael didn’t take it, instead hopping all by himself up the three steps. Great, Kyler thought, now that the parents have arrived, the kid is already waiving any help away.
