FULL MOON COUNTRY (FULL MOON SERIES (vol. 2))

by Terry Yates

  Simon stood there wrapped like Jesus in a sheet while these men discussed what was to be done about him. They talked about the blood that covered his body and whether it was his blood or possibly someone else’s, someone that the gringo might’ve killed.

  Simon had been holding the sheet around him, the way one would wear a bathrobe that didn’t have a sash, hands and arms crossed, sheet tightly bound in each fist. He took his left hand and slowly reached over to his right one. He released the cloth from his right hand and bunched it into the left one, while he took his right arm and moved it stealthily below his left armpit. He extended his right index finger and began to pierce his skin. It’s a good thing he hadn’t cut his fingernails in a while. He didn’t have much fat on him, so he had to press down hard to get the nail under his skin. As the men talked, he dug harder and harder until he felt himself begin to draw blood. He tore the new wound completely across to the other side of his stomach. It hurt like hell, but so what? It’d be gone soon. He was a werewolf now, but he wanted to see if these men were friend or foe.

  After another chat with his neighbors, the leader slowly stepped up again, and then slowly reached his hands out toward Simon. Simon was about to put up a defensive hand, but thought better of it. He could take the man. He could take them all. Let’s just see what Signor Man is up to, he thought to himself.

  The man took hold of the sheet and began to gently pull it away from his chest and torso. The crusted blood stuck to the sheet and made a tearing sound as it pulled away from his skin. He winced when a few chest hairs got pulled causing him to almost laugh. He was a werewolf and he was wincing at a few smarting chest hairs. You fellas oughta see me the next time I turn, he wanted to tell them.

  The Mexican continued to pull the sheet down lower, carefully observing the bloodstains. As he did, he would occasionally look up into Simon’s eyes. Simon could smell his trepidation and he could almost feel the heat coming off the man’s throat. It would be so easy, El Hefei, just to reach in, and snatch your heart out, he wanted to say. The man finally pulled the sheet down past Simon’s ribcage and saw the self-made wound. He almost looked pleased to see the wound. He turned to the others and told them that it was the gringo’s blood on the sheet. Simon just stood and listened as they discussed his situation. All heads nodded in unison, when one man said ‘hospital’. Hospital? If there was one thing that Simon Shoals knew, was that he didn’t need a hospital. The leader and another man gently took his arms. Again, Simon’s impulse was to defend himself, but a thought came to him. Why not go down to the hospital and check out some of his handiwork? Actually, it sounded like fun. He’d let his new amigos drop him off at the old ER, and see what he could get up to. He smiled at the men, and they in return, smiled back at him as they all lead him to the back of an old beat up pickup truck.

  CHAPTER 36

  Kyler tried not to cringe as he watched Gen. Mueller tell one General Satterfield, his superior, who was on his way to check out the LA situation, all about werewolves from a sheet of paper that Kyler had given him. For all intents and purposes, Kyler could’ve been watching The Munsters, where it always seemed like a police officer was always taking down descriptions of Herman.

  “Yessir…” Mueller said, nodding his head, looking down at the paper. “Werewolf…yessir, werewolf. Half man…yessir…full moon…mmmhmmm. It says that its bite wound will heal quickly. The scratch or claw injuries are permanent. Uh…some get bat-like faces just before turning and…then again, some don’t. Let’s see…their senses are heightened, especially smell and hearing, and most will be able to show great feats of strength…uh…at times, their eyes will look like…” With this, he darted his eyes at Kyler. “Big, black, marbles…yessir…marbles…yes…just like when we were kids.”

  Mueller was silent for a moment, his hands covering his eyes as he listened to Gen. Satterfield. To Kyler, the man was the very definition of miserable. At that moment, he was probably wishing he owned a grocery store somewhere that sold gas at almost twenty-five dollars a gallon. That would be the life. Just sit back and take it all in, but no, here he was in the middle of Shit Valley, USA.

  It was probably a good two minutes before Mueller spoke again. “How do we kill them, Sir?”

  Upon hearing this, Kyler took a folded piece of paper from his lap, reached up, and handed it Mueller, who quickly unfolded it, took one more look at Kyler, and then sighed.

  “Eh…beheading…quick silver…I’m guessing regular silver…loaded into ammunition…he doesn’t know about burning…one moment, General.”

  Mueller looked up at Kyler, suddenly coherent.

  “Wasn’t there something else?” he asked.

  “No…” Kyler answered, feigning ignorance. He was sort of hoping that Mueller had forgotten about Joe and his magic werewolf-killing saliva. He’d never told them about the Knights of Kravania, who should, by the way, if they’re everything that Zora said that they were, should be along at any moment.

  Muller nodded his head and went back to the phone.

  “Sorry about that, General…no that’s about it…yessir…yessir, I will…yessir…goodbye, sir…”

  Mueller put the phone back down, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes.

  “It looks like the shit’s hitting the fan in Los Angeles, “ he said softly, now rubbing his eyes even harder.

  You have no idea, Kyler thought to himself.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Jesus! Watch out!” Mary Sue wanted to scream after yet another military truck with the letters ‘FORT SILL” emblazoned on the side, flew past her as she drove down Miller Road on the way back to the hospital with Rhonda Weaver and Denny Lusk. Mary Sue, Denny, and Rex, laid Rhonda on her back in the back seat, and covered her with one of the firehouse blankets. Denny lifted her legs, and then slid into the back seat, placing her legs over his lap, which sort of gave him the creeps. He then continued to do what he had been trying to do all morning. He took out several different cell phones that he’d collected on Everton Road…the ones that were still intact, anyway…and was trying to get hold of his family. They were in California and were traveling to all of the major cities…L.A., San Diego, San Jose, San Francisco…all of them, but he’d forgotten which days they were where. He wasn’t even sure if they’d gotten there yet, because they were going to make every faggety-assed stop between here and there on Route 66. Denny hoped to God that they weren’t in L.A. They’d gotten a little TV reception at the station, but most cell phones had been useless since the hurricanes and tsunami’s and the influx of refugees. Harmonville had sent money to help with the relief fund, but they weren’t too hip on refugees moving in with them, so, as far as he knew, there were none living there.

  Denny and Rex had seen bits and pieces of a news broadcast announcing for the first time, that a big walking wolf attacked L.A. the night before. God, he hated living in the sticks, he thought to himself, throwing a cell phone to the floor. This time last year, they would’ve found out about the LA thing that night, but now only the big cities got any sort of good reception.

  “Hang onto those phones,” Mary Sue told him, looking through the rearview mirror. “We might need them to get hold of relatives.” Denny slowly nodded. “Nice jacket, by the way,” Mary Sue added, smiling at his reflection.

  “Thanks,” he muttered back, sweeping his hair out of his face, and placing another cell phone up to his ear.

  Before they left Everton, the two of them gathered as many cell phones as they could. Denny told Mary Sue that he wanted to get his jacket out of his house. She told him that he could, but to be careful. Denny had nodded, then turned and began to walk across the street. His house was two doors down from where they stood. The Berry’s had lived next door to the Lusk’s for as long as Denny could remember. Their families had never been especially close, but they were friendly with each other. Denny stopped before he reached his house. Mary Sue watched as he put his hands on his hips and stared at the house.

  “What
is it?” Mary Sue asked?

  “I was just thinking that maybe I really don’t need the jacket…it being summer,

  and all.”

  “It can get chilly around here at night,” Mary Sue said aloud while she was looking at what was left of one of the town citizenry. It was a female leg torn from the knee. There was a butterfly tattoo just above the foot…the left foot if she wasn’t mistaken. She needed to get someone out here and soon. It was supposed to be a hot day and these…corpses…were going to start to decompose. It didn’t help matters that Everton Road was completely black topped and the black tar would make it even hotter. She’d try to get the County Coroner out here when they got to the fire station.

  She turned around to find Denny still standing in the road, and still staring at his house.

  “Denny? What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Denny replied quietly.

  It suddenly dawned on Mary Sue that Denny was afraid to go inside his house. To Mary Sue, Denny Lusk looked like a frightened little boy.

  “Hang on a sec,” she told him stepping back over to Rhonda Weaver. “Mrs. Weaver? Mrs. Weaver, can you hear me?”

  Mary Sue bent down next to Rhonda just as her eyes began to flutter open.

  “All dead…” she muttered.

  “Mrs. Weaver, I’m gonna go across the road with Denny. Will you be all right till I come back?”

  Rhonda’s eyes began to focus more clearly or so it looked to Mary Sue. She slowly nodded her head. Mary Sue patted her leg, stood up, and ran across the road to join Denny.

  “Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t let you go wandering in your house alone,” she said, looking down at him. Mary Sue was about five-seven, which put Denny at no more than five-six. She had to be a good inch taller than the boy. As she looked down at him, he looked like a lost, little street urchin. He had dirt all over his face and a face full of little nicks and cuts from the door exploding in on him.

  Mary Sue put her hand on the butt of her revolver, and the two of them walked into the yard and into the house. Once inside, Mary Sue followed Denny to his bedroom, where he retrieved his long black duster jacket, the same kind many goth kids had been wearing for years. She told him that he didn’t have time for a shower, but she didn’t mind if he wanted to clean up and change clothes. She also told him to bring any toiletries he may need, and if he didn’t mind, gathering up any toiletries or medicines that his family may have left behind. They didn’t know how long they might be gone, so she also let him pack some clothes.

  She stood in Denny’s room as he packed some things into a backpack. To Mary Sue, it looked like any sixteen-year-olds-room might look, although where she would’ve had NSYNC or The Spice Girls posters on her walls at sixteen, Denny had posters of Robert Smith and the Cure and Marilyn Manson, and more Robert Smith and more Marilyn Manson. He also had models…lots of them. They were monster models, the same monster models that young boys had been putting together for generations. There was the Frankenstein Monster walking through a graveyard, the Dracula model with cape out and one beckoning pointing finger, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, the Phantom of the Opera, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and of course, the Wolfman model…the Lon Chaney Jr. Universal Pictures werewolf with little ears and prominent bottom teeth.

  “That’s what I saw,” came Denny’s voice suddenly from her right. Mary Sue whirled sideways to find the boy pointing at the Wolfman model, but looking at her. His hair was slicked back, his face was clean except for two band-aids, and he had on a clean black t-shirt, as well as a clean pair of jeans. Next to him on the floor, sat two full backpacks. He no longer looked like a Goth kid, but more like a sixteen-year old Okie, albeit a longhaired sixteen-year-old Okie.

  “Was it wearing slacks and a button-down shirt?” Mary Sue joked, now looking back at the model.

  “No ma’am, but they were werewolves…only they were huge…well, two of ‘em were. The other…I think it was one of ‘em…I didn’t really get a good look, was real little.”

  A little werewolf, huh? Mary Sue thought warily to herself tapping the butt of her pistol.

  As they neared the hospital, Mary Sue found herself cussing and screaming more than usual at the Ft. Sill trucks. She’d put on her emergency lights, which seemed to be doing no good. Finally, she gave them a little taste of the siren, but still none of the trucks would give her an inch. If there was one thing that perturbed Mary Sue Carter, Sheriff of Harmonville, Oklahoma, was to disrespect her badge. She didn’t give much of a flip anymore about what anyone thought of her. She’d heard it all in her short tenure as a police officer, but she took very little guff when it came to her job. She’d had to set many a person straight in Harmonville who still thought of her as a little girl or Joey Carter’s girl.

  Mary Sue kept the lights on, but turned off the siren. She then proceeded to drive along the shoulder of the road, actually half shoulder, half ditch, passing truck after truck, and jeep after jeep, which were taking up all lanes, both north and south. She didn’t have to look at either Rex or Denny to know…or to feel…that they were unsettled. She did feel bad for Mrs. Weaver, but she had to put a stop to this now. As she passed the lead, left lane jeep, Mary Sue pulled back onto the road and sped ahead to where the road went from four lanes to two because of construction. She slammed on her brakes and pulled the wheel hard to the right. The cruiser swerved to the right and immediately skidded to a stop, taking up both lanes. Rex and Denny could only watch as the dozen or so army vehicles, bared down on their side of the car.

  Mary Sue was out of the car before the lead vehicles, a truck and a jeep, came to a halt. She stood between the cruiser and the still moving vehicles. Rex half expected her to throw her hand up in the “Halt!” position…but she didn’t. She simply stood stone still, her left arm at her side, and her right hand resting on the butt of her revolver.

  “Damn!” Denny exclaimed as he watched the truck and the jeep come to a stop just feet in front of her.

  “Damn!” echoed Rex just behind him.

  Rex removed his seatbelt, then pulled on the door handle. The door was open no more than a foot, when he saw Mary Sue’s left hand shoot out straight behind her.

  “Stay in the car, Rex,” she ordered him without turning around.

  Rex’s reflexes kicked into gear, and he immediately withdrew his knee and shut the door, amazed at the speed and dexterity in which he did so.

  Rhonda Weaver snored lightly as Rex and Denny watched Mary Sue Carter transform into Sheriff Mary Sue Carter, and speed walk to the driver’s side of the jeep, and stick her hand out, probably a request for some sort of driver’s license or ID. For someone who was so submissive the night before, she was sure as shit in charge now.

  The driver of the vehicle, a soldier, got out, and was soon joined by a man in the khaki camouflage outfit that you always saw Norman Swartzkoppf wearing during Desert Storm. Rex didn’t know one rank from another, but it looked like this was the man in charge.

  “She’s sure letting somebody have it, isn’t she?” Rex muttered aloud.

  “She sure is,” Denny answered.

  “Can you tell what she’s saying?”

  “The trucks are too loud,” Denny replied, watching Sheriff Carter become suddenly animated. “She’s saying…something arrest you…and…something…any other…did she just say “Motherfucker”?

  “I think she did.”

  “Dude.”

  “Yeah.”

  After a few moments of inaudible “it heads”, “of a bitches…”, “od dammit”, and “eriff…armonville…”, Mary Sue turned around and stormed back to the car, crimson faced and cat-eyed. She walked around the front of the car, opened the door, and slid in. She removed her hat and placed it on the dashboard.

  “Dammit!” she screamed, beating on the steering wheel.

  “Everything okay?” Rex asked, a sarcastic grin on his face.

  Mary Sue looked through the rearview mirror just in time to catch De
nny wiping a smirk off of his face.

  “How’s Mrs. Weaver?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  Denny looked down at Rhonda Weaver, whose eyes were fluttering open and closed as if she was trying to stay awake, but couldn’t.

  “She’s restless, I think,” answered Denny.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Mary Sue said, putting the car into gear and leading the Army toward the hospital.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Colonel! Col. Potts!”

  Potts turned around to see Kyler running toward him. He turned back around and began to walk again.

  “Colonel! Wait!”

  “What is it, Kyler?” Potts asked, still walking as Kyler caught up with him.

  “You can’t stop for five seconds?” Kyler said gasping for air.

  “No.”

  “Well, you need to,” Kyler told him, not understanding the physics of how he, a tall long-legged man, was having to run to keep up with a smaller man who’s legs were shorter, and was walking. Finally, Potts stopped and placed his hands on his hips.

  “What, Kyler?”

  “You know what they’re saying about those Oklahoma killings?”

  “I don’t know…they were bad…spit it out, Kyler.”

  “According to the tracks, there were three of them.”

  “So.”

  “There was a large set of tracks, a medium set of tracks, and a small set of tracks.”

  “They were like The Three Bears, only werewolves. So what?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly what?”