by Terry Yates
The werewolves appeared to be getting into attack mode, their bodies becoming smaller, as if they were about to spring.
“Now!” Potts screamed.
When she pulled the wheel left, FranAnne would’ve sworn she smelled werewolf ass. The truck lurched right, pulling FranAnne, Mary Sue, and the radio right. FranAnne began to see what they were doing. When the trucks straightened up they would be driving past the front of the werewolves. It would be like a general inspecting the troop…if a general were doing fifty miles and hour…and he was inspecting a unit of angry AND hungry werewolves.
Without having to be told, FranAnne straightened the wheel and stomped on the accelerator. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that over the din of werewolves, which were now only feet away, she heard Jordan ‘yee-hawing’.
As the two trucks moved in front of the werewolves, Mary Sue, Jefferson, and Peter Valkenberg, who himself was standing on the bumper, his left hand hanging onto the outer rail, the Uzi in his right hand, began to unload their weapons into the werewolves, who were almost close enough to touch. Two large werewolves were no more than three feet away and closing on an angle, when Mary Sue shot one in the neck and Jefferson shot the other in the back, causing both creatures to fall.
Potts and Sam were standing in the back of the truck, while Kyler stayed on his knees next to the tailgate. Denny had been sent to the front of the bed with Anthony and Meredith. Sam stood behind Potts, both men with a regular grenade in one hand.
“Shit!” Potts yelled.
Potts was kicking himself. He and Sam needed to drop the regular grenades into the large group of the werewolves, so they could do a lot of damage, but he hadn’t thought about the fact that he would have a truck behind him. He had to admit, he hadn’t thought the whole plan through. He began to wave for Jordan to pull his truck further away from the line. He couldn’t see his face through the windshield, but he knew that that he wasn’t complying. The hillbilly was probably watching Jefferson and Valkenberg mow down dozens of the big bastards, so he waved again. Still nothing. Finally, he held up a grenade, whereby the truck immediately swerved away from the line. Potts pulled the pin and threw the explosive into a cluster of werewolves that were still confused about what the little two-leggers were up to. As soon as Potts dropped his grenade, he moved to his right and let Sam drop the one that he was holding. The three of them covered their ears until they heard one explosion, followed by a second explosion…and then a third. Potts had told Williams to wait for their grenades to explode, and that would be the signal for him to drop his grenade.
The explosions blew at least a dozen werewolves apart, sending the others into a frenzy, letting out one loud, collective howl, before giving chase.
Seeing that they were almost passed the line, FranAnne swerved left again, so that they would straighten up and be headed toward the mountains again.
“That’s it, Fulton!” Potts yelled from his knees, hoping that FranAnne would know when to straighten out, and she had. Give me another regular grenade,” he ordered Kyler. He was watching the other truck pull behind them, and then off to their right, where it suddenly accelerated past them.
“Yahoo!” Jordan yelled as they passed. Potts angrily waved him by.
“God, I love that Jordan!” he yelled over the din. “Now gimme another…” He stopped speaking when he saw that Kyler and Sam were both staring at him, Kyler loosely holding a grenade out. “What the…?” Then it hit him. His bandage had blown away. He and Kyler looked at one another for a moment, their noses no more than a foot apart. In the darkness, Potts’ face looked like a silhouette of one of those broken heart lockets, where one of you kept one half and the other kept the other half, and every time you got together, you put each half together. Potts had no right cheekbone or even a complete eye socket. The whole side of his face was flat. There were still some ugly puss filled sores on his face, even after all of this time. As for the rest of his face, it was beginning to look like The Grande Canyon and The Dark Side of the Moon got tequila drunk and bumped uglies for a fortnight. There were craters of different depths and the scarring was horrendous.
Potts looked down and took the grenade from Kyler’s hand before it fell. He then plopped down onto his butt, pulled the pin on the grenade, and then dropped it over the back of the truck. The four of them, Denny had slid up behind the men, watched as the yellow eyes began to catch up with them.
“Three…two…one…” Potts shouted.
Potts couldn’t have missed it by more than half a second before the hand grenade exploded, causing many of the yellow eyes to disappear among wails of pain. Two more grenades went off to their left. Williams and Valkenberg were dropping them at will. Sam picked up one of his, clamped down, took a breath, and then pulled the pin. He waited a beat, shook his head once, and then tossed it over the side.
“Three…two…one…” Sam shouted. On one, there was an immediate explosion, whereby Sam pumped his fist as yellow eyes after yellow eyes disappeared.
“That’s the style, Fong!” Potts crowed.
Good God, Kyler thought to himself. They were having the time of their lives!
“Ya’ wanna throw one, Kyler?” Potts yelled at him. They were only two feet apart, but Kyler was having trouble hearing anything over the trucks, the werewolves, grenades, or Mary Sue, Jefferson, and Peter, blasting at anything yellow. He hoped there wasn’t a family of fireflies roaming about, because they were screwed in the yamshoot.
“No thanks,” Kyler replied.
“Suit yourself. Give me one of the silver ones now!” Potts bellowed.
“Can I throw one?”
The three men turned to see Denny on his knees, behind them, a look of hope, not unlike a puppy that wants to play catch on a rainy day.
“Sure!” Potts screamed!
“No!” Kyler screamed louder, shaking his head.
Potts looked back at Denny, then shrugged his shoulders.
“Hand me the radio, Kid!”
Denny scrambled around on his hands and knees, feeling his way around on the floor of the truck for the radio. He found it under one of the benches, then scrambled back over to the trio, looking back over his shoulder to make sure Anthony and Meredith were okay. The two were locked in an embrace, both faces hidden from view. Good enough, he thought.
“Hey, Kid!” Potts shouted, his hand held out.
Denny came to and crawled over to the men. He handed Potts the radio Kyler looked behind them. Although Jefferson, Peterson, and Williams, were mowing down werewolves like bowling pins, more seemed to be taking their place. Mary Sue couldn’t shoot anymore without sticking half her body out of the window.
“Okay, listen everybody!” Potts roared into the radio. “When I give the order, I want you to do exactly what I tell you to do, exactly when I tell you to do it! You don’t have to reply! I’ll know when you’ve carried out the order! Over and out!”
Still on his knees, Potts picked up one of the silver grenades, and stuck it up to his face, trying to find the initials.
“A.O.?” Potts asked, looking away for a moment
“Ariella O’Hearley!” Kyler answered.
“Good enough!” Potts retorted, placing the radio back to his lips.
“Get ready, all of you. They’re beginning to catch up.”
Kyler, Sam, and Denny looked behind them, and sure enough, they could see that the werewolves were gaining ground, some running on two legs and some on four, and all looking pissed.
“Get ready…” Potts spoke into the radio.
“Colonel?” Sam asked, nervously. He and Kyler could see that the creatures were getting extremely close to both trucks.
“Get ready…” Potts repeated, keeping his eye on the werewolves who were closing at about thirty yards, and getting closer.
“Do exactly as I say, in five…four…
“Colonel?” Both Sam AND Kyler asked nervously, seeing that several of the beast were no more than twenty yards away.
“three…two�
��one…” Potts counted down. On one, he pulled the pin of the silver grenade. “zero…All right…KILL YOUR LIGHTS!”
Potts stuck his head out of the truck. The other truck’s lights were out. Potts figured that Jordan probably turned them off before he even ordered him to. Their lights were still on.
“Goddammit, Fulton! Kill those lights! Now!”
“COLONEL?” Kyler cried, seeing that three werewolves were about to be upon them. They could see the whole beast now. Kyler thought that one of them must’ve been close to nine-feet tall, he wasn’t sure, because he had, not the desire, nor the inclination to measure the monster.
“COLONEL?” Sam echoed, but for a different reason. He had noticed that Potts had been holding the pinless hand grenade for quite a while, and he hoped the Potts noticed it, too.
“Ful…”
Suddenly, the headlights went out.
Just when it seemed like the large one was going to jump onto/into the truck, Potts pulled his .44, and shot the beast dead. When it dropped, it took out several of the creatures that were running behind it, which was impressive, until it allowed them to see just how many werewolves were after them. The moon was so bright and orange that it lit up the night. Wave after wave of extremely massive, and massively pissed lycanthropes were chasing the two trucks toward the Black Mesa’s.
“Three…two…one…” Potts said to himself, before tossing the silver explosive out of the truck bed, as if he was tossing a wadded piece of paper into a wastepaper can.
No more than two seconds went by before the grenade exploded, killing at least six or seven right off the bat. The explosion sent an almost glasslike, silver mist over the pack. Kyler wanted to cover his ears as many of the beast began to scream, and howl, and wail in pain as the silver shrapnel did its job.
“Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!” FranAnne screamed with every bump that they hit.
The night was as bright as daylight, but the closer they got to the Black Mesa’s, the more they blocked out the moon, making objects more shadowy. She couldn’t see the terrain at all. She was driving blindly. She thought that she was going to have a heart attack, when Potts let the silver grenade go. The explosion was followed by the sounds of assault rifles and grenades coming from the other truck, followed by the same from the back of her truck.
Until that moment, FranAnne Fulton didn’t know what it was like to be truly scared to death. She’d been frightened when Nicholas Klefka grabbed her in the dark, and of course, when he’d turned into a werewolf and chased them across the island, in the middle of the night, and in the middle of a hurricane. But this…this is what it must’ve been like for Lindbergh…but at least Lindbergh stood a chance of missing the mountains, FranAnne didn’t. She had been waiting to hit a ditch, or a rock, or a log, or a canyon, or any number of things that could be lying in wait for them between there and the mountains. Jordan could handle playing Chicken, but she couldn’t. Knowing that every single moment, might be her last, didn’t do a damn thing for her.
FranAnne had only been on smooth terrain for a moment, when she saw something dart out in front of the left side of the truck She couldn’t tell its height…until she hit it. It hit the top of the hood…probably four or five feet depending on if it was hunched over or not, but before she hit the thing…she saw its face. It hung in time under the moonlight. It was a human face. It appeared to be a woman’s face, frozen in terror as the moon shone across her face. If it was a monster, then it was a monster wearing a white blouse.
Whatever it was slid down over the grill, then under the two driver’s side wheels. FranAnne wasn’t sure through the din of Potts and Sam dropping hand grenades and shooting assault weapons, if she actually heard a scream. To be more precise, a woman’s muffled scream, because it didn’t last long. There was a high-pitched squeal of either pain or surprise, followed by the sound of the body hitting the truck. After that, there was the sound of bones crunching loudly when it rolled under the front tire, not so much by the time it went under the second tire. The sound was more mushy…more jelly-like.
“What the hell was that!” Potts shouted into the radio.
Mary Sue, who had been busy trying to get a good shot in, but who was finding it useless in trying to shoot behind her, and moreover, she was trying to keep from getting thrown out of the truck, reached for the radio, but reached too late, because FranAnne snatched it up out of the old cup holder, as if it were a magnet.
“I think I ran over someone!” she cried. “A person!”
“What!” Potts shouted back.
“I think I ran over someone, Colonel!” she came back, tears starting to brim over. “I think it was a woman! Should we go back and get her?”
She heard a blast, then the sound of assault rifles being shot. They were still at it. She looked at Mary Sue, who whose body was tensed and her legs were stretched out. Her eyes were also closed tightly, and her face was set in a grimace. She was awaiting the inevitable crash.
“Colonel? What do we do?” she asked, her voice quivering, as the tears were spilling over.
There was another blast and several more shots before she heard the radio crackle to life.
“Fulton!” Potts bellowed, his words barely audible coming through the tiny radio speaker. “Fulton!”
FranAnne took her hand off of the wheel and picked up the radio from between her legs.
“Sir?” Where Potts was so loud that she could barely hear him, she, on the other hand, was so quiet, trying to choke back the sobs, that he could barely hear her.
“Fulton! We’re not stopping this truck! If you ran over something or somebody, tough shit! They’re dead one way or another! You probably did ‘em a favor! Now, we’ve got ten thousand people, who knows, maybe more, out on that highway, and some of those people are your military comrades, and some are Sheriff Carter’s comrades. Maybe they’ll get it together and come help us, but until then, we have to lead these hairy-asses away from the civilians…or anywhere that’s populated, for that matter. These fuckers can see pretty well in the dark, but with our lights off, they have trouble finding us after a silver grenade explosion. It hurts and blinds ‘em, and the silver mist burns ‘em like mace when they run through it. Now, hear me good, Private! You’ll stop your blubbering and your crying this minute, or I’ll buck you down to Lifetime Latrine Digger! Is that understood? You cry on your own goddamn time! Right now, you’re gonna gun this bitch till I till I tell you otherwise! Now bring me that mountain! Over!”
“Yessir!” FranAnne screamed from the cab, wiping her eyes and nose. She looked over at Mary Sue, who now had her eyes open, and her gun drawn again. The thought of her comrades being in trouble had braved her up to the point where she had quit worrying about the next moment being her last. If they hit a rock or a petrified tree, or a canyon, or something, that would be as the Colonel said…tough shit! Might as well do something constructive. She looked over at FranAnne, who started the busted blush, that thing that happens when you get busted eyeballing a girl/guy that you find attractive.
“You heard the ol’ one-eyed son-of-a-bitch,” Mary Sue said, grinning. “Gun this bitch!”
FranAnne smiled, wiped her eyes one last time, then pushed her foot down hard on the accelerator, and continued to speed blindly through the darkness.
Kyler didn’t think that they would ever stop coming. Between silver grenades and silver bullets, Potts, Sam, Peter, Jefferson, and Williams, were mowing down werewolf after werewolf, but still they never seemed to stop coming. They growled and snarled, trying to get the little two-leggers, but were constantly being repelled by the little hot rocks and the silver clouds that burned their eyes and nostrils, and killed those who inhaled too much of the mist.
“Hold your fire,” he told Sam as he picked up the radio. They had plenty of room between themselves and what was left of the pack that was following their truck. The long ears, yellow eyes, and white teeth were disappearing into the distance. The silver ammunition was doing its job, but P
otts knew never to tempt fate too many times. They’d learned on the island that, just because a werewolf runs away, doesn’t necessarily mean that it won’t come back. This group could just be out of shape, and were stopping only to catch their second wind, before starting up again.
“Okay…” Potts said into the radio, while looking at watch. “When I give the order, turn your lights on! There’s no reason to Roger this. I’ll know you heard me by your compliance. Over!”
Kyler, Sam, and Denny stared first at Potts, then at each other, then at Potts again as he continued to hold the radio to his mouth and the watch to his eye.
“Wait for it…” Potts told the drivers sternly, once again his head stuck out of the back of the truck, trying to see up ahead. He could barely see the mountains because the moon was now behind them, making it darker than he had expected. “Stay with it…stay with it…” he told the drivers calmly. Kyler could hear Potts through his own radio that hung on his belt. “On the ready…”, Now, Potts’ voice was louder…and in stereo! He looked up to see Denny sitting next to him, his ear also to a radio. Whew, Kyler thought to himself. For a moment, he thought that he was still stoned. “TURN ‘EM ON!” Potts screamed loudly, causing both Kyler and Denny to jump. Kyler hit his right funny bone against the iron tailgate, sending the worst case of ‘The Tingles’ shooting up his arm.
“Sonofamothhafunnyfuckinbonefuckinshitdamnhell!” Kyler exclaimed, grimacing as he cradled his elbow to his face and chest. The sensation was almost unbearable. “Shitshitshitshitshitcocksuckinshit!” he continued to curse. He looked up to see Sam and Denny smiling in his direction. Their smiles lasted but a moment, because they quickly morphed into snorts and giggles, followed closely by full out laughter. Stoned sonsofbitches, he thought as he rubbed his elbow.
When Potts had given the order, FranAnne’s hand had already been on the old light knob, ready to receive light as quickly as possible. As soon as she turned on the lights, she saw that she was still on flat terrain. The other truck was right next to them, its lights shining through the darkness.
