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

by Terry Yates

  “Hurry up, Sir!” he heard a female voice say. “You’re on Uncle Sam’s time now!”

  Simon looked up to see a young female soldier dressed in helmet and battle fatigues. She couldn’t have much over five feet in height and barely a hundred pounds in weight. She stood looking down at him, hands on hips.

  “Uncle Sam can wait a few seconds,” Simon said calmly, as he slipped on the last shoe.

  “Get a move on, Sir!” she yelled again.

  Simon looked up to see the patients being herded out of the room. They were scared and nervous, and most looking his direction.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, starting to stand.

  “You’ll go where you’re told to go! Now move!”

  As Simon made his way to his feet, the young soldier looked nervous now, seeing he was well over a foot taller than she.

  “Now what was that you were saying?” he asked, looking down at her.

  “Sir,” she tried to say calmly, but her voice betraying her. “Move!” she squeaked, pointing her finger.

  Before she knew what was even happening, Simon had grabbed her finger and squeezed.

  “Never point with your trigger finger,” he said softly. “Leaves you vulnerable.”

  As Simon looked down at her, the lights started to float around her like beautiful little blue, white, and orange, butterflies. He could no longer hear the nervous people around him. All he could do was feel this little philly’s fear. She was truly afraid, her little heart was racing like a little rabbit’s, and her blood was pumping so fast, he could actually hear it. He could also smell her sweat. Oh yeah, this little heifer’s head would look great among his collection, her last expressions of pain and horror still engraved upon her face. The lights were really swirling around now. Usually, he wasn’t this bold and brazen when the lights started swirling around, but he guessed since that he was pretty much indestructible, he was throwing caution to the wind, but something was holding him back. Must be the wolf in me, he thought to himself. Self-preservation.

  Just as quickly as the lights appeared, they began to fade. He could now see the girl clearly, and she was in extreme pain even though he wasn’t bending her finger, simply squeezing it.

  “Is there a problem?”

  Simon looked to his left to see a rather muscular soldier, also in battle fatigues, and with rifle, looking at him quite ominously. Oh, this little man just wanted a scrap, didn’t he? But again, he could feel that centuries old, inbred self-preservation.

  “Why no,” Simon answered, smiling. He relinquished his hard grip on her finger, and then bent down and kissed and her hand. “Just thought I knew the young lady.”

  “Get a move on then,” the muscular soldier ordered, pointing his rifle toward the door where he saw most of the patients being filed out of the room.

  What the hell, he thought. Might as well play it out till the end and see where the shit drains out. Besides, he’d caused it all. Why not stick around and see what he’s created.

  “Right away, Mister eh…” Simon saw that the man had Taggert written across his breast pocket. “Taggert.” Simon truly hoped that Mr. Taggert was around when what he thought was going to happen, happened.

  The group had been herded into another, much larger room in the hospital. He hadn’t been sure, but he might have seen the word ‘Quarantine’ in big red letters as he was prodded through the door.

  Everyone was immediately given a bed, where they were immediately given some sort of liquid medication by concerned looking doctors who were checking bandages and shaking their heads. An older doctor…Phillips was on his nametag…stood over him and tried to force a smile, but was having a really tough time.

  Bet I know what the problem is, Simon thought. He took his hand and felt under his robe for the bandage. He slid his index and middle finger up under the gauze. Yep. His self-inflicted wound was noticeably smaller than it had been, and his guess was that all of the bite victims’ wounds were healing, while not so the scratch marks…except in his case, of course.

  The medication had put Simon almost straight to sleep, but here he was now, wide awake, and breathing heavily. He felt a certain strangeness in the room. The doctors and nurses were long gone, except for a few that were hanging outside the door, probably still trying to figure out why so many animal bite victims were healing. There were also several soldiers, rifles in hands, apparently making sure that no one either gets in or out.

  Simon swung his long legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment, trying to get his bearings. Whatever put him to sleep was supposed to still be keeping him asleep like it was the rest of the patients, but he’d already turned and knew that his immune system was kicking it at twice its normal rate. Once again, he put his feet in the old slippers, stood up, and then put on his robe. He tried to stay in the darkest parts of the room, even though he was pretty sure the room was equipped with cameras. The hospital beds were lined up on all three walls, his being against the back wall, along with about six others. They weren’t nearly as packed together as the ones lined up on the left and right walls were. Their beds were jammed together tightly, barely even leaving enough room for the doctors and nurses to work.

  Simon looked around the room for a moment, that strange feeling returning. He had an almost parental feeling about the patients, like they were his litter, or pack, or something, while at the same time, feeling no particular kindred or kindness toward any of them. Now, he must be having the Survival of the Species instincts. He didn’t so much care for the people personally, he just cared about them turning. He supposed he was a lobo…love ‘em and leave ‘em.

  He began to slowly move down the middle of the room, at first keeping his eyes straight ahead, trying not to be seen. It did seem a little spooky in there. He figured a room like this would be lit up like a Roman candle, what with people being under quarantine, and all.

  Simon saw movement to his left. Someone was moving their head back and forth. He looked outside the big, glass door. A male soldier and a female nurse were talking, and an orderly here and there walked by. He tiptoed over to the bed, and then slid himself between them. It was a tight fit, and he was fairly slim. They’d better not have any double-wide lode doctors or nurses trying to get through this crack, They might just get stuck, and this was gonna be one place that a person did not want to get stuck in.

  After he wedged himself to the head of the bed, he looked down at what appeared to be a young man in his mid twenties. Were you showing off and trying to fight the big bad wolf and got yourself bit? Hmmm? The young man was showing the first signs of the bat face that he himself had experienced. His nose and mouth were close together and his closed eyes looked like they had slits to them. His ears had shrunk a little resembling puppy ears. Simon reached down and opened one of the man’s eyelids. There they were…the big, brown, eyeballs. Those dark, empty orbs that looked like brown marbles. It was all pupil. He then slid his hand down to the man’s mouth and barely parted his lips just above the canine teeth. Yep, there they were. His canines were pointed, but hadn’t begun to grow out yet. Another few hours, who knows, maybe a day. He placed his hand on the man’s head, and patted it gently before moving on to the next patient, who was a middle-aged woman, probably early forties, he thought. Strange, he knew that she was one of his, but she didn’t have the bat-face. He placed his thumb on one of her eyelids and lifted it. Yep, same big brown eyes. He saw that he had bitten her on the neck. How did she get away without me ripping the whole thing out? He lifted her bandage and saw the wound was about half the size it had been. There was red scarring around the wound, but even that was healing. He moved his hand down to her mouth and raised her upper lip. Her canines weren’t very sharp, but he could see where they were about to break through the gums. As he was about to remove his hand, the woman, eyes still closed, suddenly reached her hand up and grabbed his index finger. His natural instinct was to pull away, but he didn’t feel threatened, so he let her hold onto it, which
she did for about five seconds before taking his finger and placing it in her mouth, whereby she began to suck on it. She was sucking it as if she thought it was a nipple. Simon let her suck for a moment, before pulling his finger away.

  He continued moving stealthily through the room, checking the patients that were his. Those that were not, he ignored, until he came across the old Mexican man that had been lying next to him and calling him ‘Hombre Lobo’. Not being one of his, he was in a deep sleep. Simon looked at the ceiling. There were cameras on each wall. The one facing him seemed to be a few feet to his left. He knew that he was somewhat in the shadows, but he was pretty sure he could be seen if anyone was watching. What the hell, he thought. They can’t kill me. Might as well give it a shot.

  Still looking up at the camera on the opposite wall, Simon reached down and placed his hand over the man’s nose and mouth, and then pressed down. Never taking his eyes off of the camera, Simon felt himself once again amazed at the human body. He’d suffocated countless people, usually women, while they were drugged or passed out, and it never seemed to amaze him how the body will fight. The old man probably had enough tranqs in him to keep him out cold for hours, but here he was, beginning to thrash about, still unconscious. The old man obviously didn’t have Simon’s strength, but he was putting up a pretty good fight. When Simon pressed down even harder, he could hear the man’s bowels going as he kicked and fought. Simon continued to stare at the camera. So far, so good. Someone should’ve seen him by now, so this obviously isn’t the normal way of doing things in an L.A. hospital. Things aren’t clockwork yet, because of all of the confusion between the hospital and the army, and everything else that had happened the previous night.

  The old Mexican man’s body began to slowly die. He gave about six good leg thrashes, and then finally lay still. Simon quickly took his hand from the man’s face. Immediately, the old man began to gasp as his lungs began to take in air. Simon chuckled before replacing his hand over the man’s face. Just had to do it once. Let ‘em come to life before you take it away from ‘em again. He pushed down harder on the man’s face till he heard bones crunching, and then removed it, still looking at the camera. These people weren’t on the ball at all, were they, he asked himself as the old man’s body went completely still.

  CHAPTER 49

  Kyler dreamt that he was being slowly run over by a steamroller, which had started around his feet and then moved its way across his shins, where it stopped still. He could actually feel it idling. He could also hear the engine purring. Usually, when he dreamt, Kyler didn’t actually feel things like the circulation being cut off in his legs, but here he was, lying in the middle of a blacktop road, the tingly feeling of a thousand hot little needles piercing his legs from the bottom of his feet to just below his knees.

  “Come on…just get it over with,” he gasped.

  But he couldn’t move. All he could do was lie there under what had now become a giant rolling pin…a giant rolling pin that still had a purring engine that just as quickly morphed into a backfiring, sputtering engine, but even that morphed into something else. Was it…snoring?

  Kyler’s body couldn’t take it anymore. The loss of circulation was killing him. He found himself groaning and rolling his head, before he finally sat up to find that the steamroller/rolling pin was actually a seventy pound, half golden lab, half Rhodesian Ridgeback mutt lying on its stomach and across his legs. The engine had been Joe’s snoring. Kyler tried to move his lifeless legs, and was met with a slight growl from the still sleeping beast. The nerve!

  Kyler grunted, trying to pull his legs out from under the behemoth, but wasn’t having much luck.

  “Hey!” he finally said, pushing against Joe’s ribcage, which only causing the dog to rock back and forth and growl even louder. “Hey!”

  Finally, Joe gave one last loud growl, then opened his eyes, and sat up.

  “Get off me! This tent isn’t big enough for the both of us. That’s why they call it a pup tent…no…wait. Suddenly, Kyler felt like the sub-specie. “Just get off me, Frankenhound.”

  Joe stood up and looked down at Kyler, who was in such sweet relief from the feeling returning to his legs, that he groaned.

  “Get out! There’s not enough room for the two of us!”

  Kyler pushed the dog away, but not without some effort. Joe was in no hurry to exit his overnight accommodations, and leaned forward, pushing against Kyler’s pushes, which pretty much put the two of them at a stand still until Kyler gave one final push, whereby the dog let out a small growl, then exited the tiny tent, knocking down the tent pole as he went, causing the tent to collapse around Kyler.

  It seemed like half the night had flown by before Kyler could manage to semi re-erect the pup tent, but he could never get it right, and it would immediately fall down as soon as he thought it was up again. It had taken him almost a half-hour to put it up, and that was with the help of Lauren. Some confidence he’ll put into his future patients. The future. It was here…and now. The world had changed overnight.

  Kyler stood up and looked at his handwork. Even in the dark, his tent looked bad, sitting there, leaning sideways, barely erect. He looked at his watch. It was half past two in the morning. The stars lit up the night sky. He saw a falling star here and there. He couldn’t enjoy the scenery at that particular moment, because he had to pee like a madman.

  He moved through camp where he saw a dozen tents standing. Most of the children got those nice throw tents that just pop up. Not him though…or Potts. Potts had a large tent that he could walk around in. He’d watched four soldiers erect it for him just before nightfall.

  Barefooted, he walked a short distance from the camp where he knew there were a few trees. Along the way, he stepped on several small, jagged rocks, a few large, jagged rocks, a couple of rough sticks, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, an old, upside down, soda bottle top. By the jaggedness and the pain it caused, he was guessing it was an old RC top.

  After relieving himself against a tree, Kyler turned around and began walking back toward the camp, this time keeping his eyes on the ground most of the time, although it was hard to see anything in the tall, dark grass.

  He had just kicked an old beer bottle and summarily began hopping on one foot, while holding the other, when he looked up to see movement in the camp. It was Joe, probably looking for another hostel to spend the rest of the night in. After a moment, the dog stopped still, his profile looking strangely noble under the night sky. It looked as if he were almost pointing, except he was sort of half-pointing, with his head now cocked to side. As his father used to say about the family dog…“He looks just like the RCA Victor dog.” It was years before he understood that one. He just happened to be looking at his parent’s albums one day, when he saw that RCA Victor was a record company, and it’s logo was of a sitting dog with its head cocked to one side looking at the horn on the Victrola gramophone, while above its head sits the company slogan. “He Can Hear His Master’s Voice”.

  Kyler watched as Joe walked toward whatever sound that only he and others of his kind could hear. There were tents in the in the way, so Kyler couldn’t see where he went. He just disappeared from view.

  When he reached the spot where Joe had stood, Kyler looked to his right. Joe was so far away that he could only see him when he walked directly under the moonlight. What was that infernal hound following? Kyler began to follow Joe at a distance. He wasn’t sure why. The moon wasn’t full. It was ¾ full, big and bright orange.

  Kyler thought he had lost Joe once or twice, but each time, he picked him up again, continuing to trail him for God-Knew-What reason. The mutt was probably looking for a place to take a dump. He could actually be trailing a dog that’s just looking for a place to squat in private. Well, the dog woke him up, so he might just annoy him for a while. See how he likes it, although he was beginning to tire of the Dog-n-Man playing Cat-n-Mouse.

  Kyler was about to stop and give up on the dog, until he saw something in the dis
tance. It was small and glowed orange. It pulsated for a moment, then went an even brighter orange for a moment, before settling back again to its original shade. Were there orange fireflies, he wondered.

  The dog didn’t seem to be too worried about what it was, because he continued walking toward it. Why would he be afraid of an orange lightning bug? The dog fought werewolves, for God’s sake. Kyler, on the other hand, was nervous, not afraid, mind you, just cautious. The closer he got to the glow, he could see that some sort of silhouette stood beside it, which now appeared to be no more than five or six feet from the ground, hovering for moments at a time before quickly darting left and right, then up and down. He stopped and decided to see what Joe was going to do. He didn’t have to wait long, because Joe stopped just under the glowing light and sat down. What the shit was this? He watched as little bits of the glow exploded and fell to the ground. Then it hit him. It was a cigar…and the hand that was holding it belonged to Potts. His shape was unmistakable. He was short and…Kyler couldn’t say ‘stocky’, because Potts wasn’t round by any means, but neither was he linear. He was short with broad shoulders, big arms, and a large chest, but it wasn’t that obvious until you saw him in a t-shirt or stood close to him, then you saw that the man was built.

  Joe moved up to his left side…his good side, and sat. He had his back to him, but Kyler could see that he had replaced his helmet with his cap. He did a double take when he looked down and saw Joe sitting next to him, and looking up at him. Potts reached down and scratched the dog.

  “Still with us, I see,” he said softly, rubbing the dog’s notched ear. “Wish we could figure out how to harness that spit of yours. If we could, I’d feel a lot better right now.”

  Potts quit petting the dog and straightened up. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a stick of beef jerky. Out of his other pocket, he retrieved a small Swiss Army Knife. He pulled out the larger of the knife blades, cut two pieces off, bent down and gave a piece to Joe, and then put a piece in his own mouth. Joe had finished his chaw way before Potts had finished his. He licked his chops once and looked back up at Potts, who was forthcoming with another piece of jerky. Potts took another small piece for himself and then dropped the rest in front of Joe, who surprisingly, to Kyler anyway, let the jerky hit the ground. He’d expected the dog to snatch it out of mid-air, have it chewed and swallowed before a hummingbird could flap its wings once. It actually took the canine almost two complete seconds before the whole piece of jerky was in his mouth and down his gullet.