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

by Terry Yates

  They had to hurry, because it was beginning to rain hard. The air was cool, which meant that it was probably going to be a good one, unless it was just another weather anomaly, and then, who knew, it might be over in seconds.

  “What’s happening?” Sam asked over the radio.

  “They’re not moving. They’re just standing there.”

  Kyler shielded his eyes as he looked out behind them. Sure enough, the massive monsters were just looking at them. Probably deciding who gets whom, Kyler thought to himself. Lightning bolt after lightning bolt lit up the sky, each followed by a thunderclap that shook the ground.

  “What are you waiting for?” Potts asked, gritting his teeth.

  As if they’d heard him, the werewolves howled loud and long in their direction before turning east and walking toward the highway.

  “What the shit?” Potts uttered angrily.

  “What’re they doing?” Kyler asked loudly. The rain was making it almost impossible to hear even from just a few feet away.

  “They’re going for easier pickings,” replied Mary Sue, who watched as the pack began to move further away.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re more trouble than we’re worth to ‘em,” she continued. “There’s a bigger platter and less shooting over there.”

  “Then why did they wait for us to see them?”

  “I think they’re taunting us…letting us know that we didn’t whoop ‘em.”

  The group watched as the wolfpack began to trot toward the highway.

  “Shit!” Potts screamed over the rain. “Fulton!”

  “Sir!”

  “Take down the leader…that big sumbitch that’s in front!”

  FranAnne picked up her rifle and lifted it into the air. When eyes had adjusted through the scope, she pushed the laser button. Immediately, the red light landed on the biggest werewolf, who was leading the pack and was now starting to sprint toward the highway.

  “Bring it down, Fulton!”

  FranAnne took her eye away from the scope for a moment, took a deep breath, and then raised the rifle again. Everyone waited with their fingers in their ears for the rifle shot, which seemed to take forever. Kyler was about to reach down and scratch his nose when the shot went off, startling him, and causing him to jump.

  Afterwards, nothing happened for a moment, until finally, a smaller werewolf that had been running along next to the leader, flipped through the air with a yelp, before falling to the ground dead, a large wisp of smoke seeping through the bullet hole in its back.

  “I’ll be damned, Fulton!” Potts yelled over the rain. “I’ve never seen you miss before!”

  “Didn’t miss, Colonel!” FranAnne retorted, lying her rifle across her lap.

  “I told you to get the big one! You shot the one next to it!”

  “Yessir, I know! I figured that if the leader went down, they’d just keep on running blindly, so I hit the one next to it, which I’m guessing is its mate. That should bring ‘em this way for sure!”

  Potts looked down at FranAnne, ‘harrumphed’, then looked back at the wolfpack. Sure enough, the group was gathered around the corpse of the smaller one. The pack parted as the leader moved to the front of the group and looked toward the two trucks. It’s body seemed to twist and turn into unnatural positions, before it reared back its head, and let go with a howl that none of them had heard before. It was a cry of anger, sorrow, and pain all wrapped up into one.

  “Woo…boy…” Potts said softly, sounding to Kyler, like Fred Flintstone.

  The beast let go another howl, and then another, each sounding as different as the one before it. These howls were filled with anguish, frustration, and lamenting.

  “Sort of wish I hadn’t killed her now,” FranAnne told them, wistfully. “She is…was somebody…during the daytime anyway.”

  FranAnne grimaced, awaiting the inevitable “Buck up!” or “Shut your dyke hole!” from Potts, but he said neither, nor anything like it. He just stood there staring at the lead werewolf, each looking at the other one through the rain, both knowing that only one…or possibly none…was going to walk away from this. It was ‘No Quarter’ for both sides.

  The Leader of the Pack roared again and again. The two-leggers had outsmarted them and won the night. The pack had lost too many from the fire-rocks and the silver clouds, and had left them the battlefield. They would move away to the other two-leggers who wouldn’t put up as much of a fight, but the little fighters just wouldn’t let it go. They’d killed its mate as it was running away…and now they would pay dearly.

  The other lycanthropes joined in The Leader’s lamentations of sadness and fury, filling the night with a shrill so high that they could hear dogs barking from many of the cars on the highway. Joe let out a few of his own, no one sure if the high shrill was causing him pain, or if he was telling The Leader to “come get ya’ some, Tiger!”.

  “Well, if those civilians out there didn’t know that we were out here by all of the shooting, and howling, and exploding, they sure as shit do now!” Potts shouted, looking toward the highway. “Let’s get out here!” he yelled into the radio. “I don’t think those things out there are wishing us good luck and safe journey! Move it!”

  Sam slammed the accelerator down. The truck tires spun for a moment on the wet sand, but quickly gripped the dry sand, then lurched forward. The other truck was stuck, its tires spinning in place.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Potts cursed as he jumped out of the back of the truck and ran to the other one, where Peter, Jefferson, and Williams were already pushing and rocking the vehicle. Potts, Kyler, and Denny joined them and began pushing.

  “Fulton! Sheriff!” he yelled to FranAnne and Mary Sue who were just reaching the truck. “Take those bastards down!”

  They turned around to see the pack of werewolves lumbering toward them, slowly at first, but upon seeing their enemy’s dilemma, they began to speed toward them, again some running on their hind legs, while others morphed into the crouch and began racing toward them on all fours. Two legs or four, they were moving at a high rate of speed.

  “Push!” Potts commanded the group as Jordan revved the engine, causing the tires to spin in place, and sending mud all over the men. He looked over his shoulder to discover that the werewolves were approximately one hundred and fifty yards behind them, and closing quickly. “Get this fucker going!”

  Normally, Peter Valkenberg could’ve moved the truck by himself, but he could get no traction in the mud, and like the rest of them, was slipping and sliding. Potts looked over his shoulder just as FranAnne dropped one with her rifle. Mary Sue was down on one knee, her long barreled western revolver out and aimed, but she wasn’t shooting. She was waiting for a kill shot. She was normally better than average with a pistol, but the rain was making it hard to see.

  “Oh shit!” Kyler screamed. He’d turned his back to push against the tailgate. The werewolves were a hundred yards behind and gaining.

  Everyone continued to push and rock the truck.

  “Moob!” the group heard from behind them. They turned to see Anthony, standing behind them, trying to motion them aside with his hands. “Moob!” he repeated. Seeing that no one was listening to him, Anthony bulled his way in between Peter and Potts and began to shove.

  “Putch!” he grunted. “Putch!”

  “You heard the man!” Potts yelled, putting his back against the truck. “Putch!”

  The men grumbled and groaned as they pushed against the truck. FranAnne shot another one in the forearm, while Mary Sue finally got a shot off. She missed The Leader by inches. The men continued to yell and push and yell and push until the truck tires began to move forward, sending all of them falling face first in the mud.

  “Way to go, Kid!” Potts screamed as he helped a beaming Anthony out of the mud. “Now, everybody get moving! Those things’ll be on us any time now if we don’t get moving.

  “Asian dwiva at steeling heel!” Sam shouted into the radio as everyone piled i
nto the back.

  “Go! Go!” Potts screamed, seeing that the monsters were only about fifty yards behind.

  As Sam sped up, Potts jumped on the bumper and turned around. The werewolves were now thirty yards away.

  “Go! Go! Go!” he screamed, pounding on the truck.

  Mary Sue shot one in the chest as it was about to reach the truck. The force of impact sent the creature straight back and into two more.

  Both trucks began to speed through the rain with the werewolves trailing close behind.

  “Split up!” Potts screamed into the radio.

  On Potts’ order, the two trucks veered left and right. Just as Potts had hoped, the werewolves split up, six following one truck, and five the other. Jefferson, Peter, and Williams were shooting at the approaching werewolves, while he, FranAnne, and Mary Sue were shooting at the ones coming up behind them. It was getting harder to see them in the rain. Only when a lightning bolt flashed, could they get a good look at them. This pack had an intelligence to it. As soon as they split up, they spread out, making the shooter have to aim instead of shooting into a cluster and getting lucky. The mud wasn’t helping their vision either. Hopefully, the beasts were getting a good dose of it, too.

  “Gun it!” Potts screamed into the radio.

  The rain was coming down in torrents now, and sweeping sideways across the terrain, making it hard to drive the truck fast and keep it upright at the same time. Sam could see the mountains looming in the distance. Shit, how far away were they, he wondered. They’d been looming in the distance all freaking day! With almost every lightning bolt he saw and thunderclap he heard, the sound of an assault rifle quickly followed. He looked to his right to see the other truck gradually veering further right, the rain shining against its lights as it bounced up and down, making Sam think of the movie A Perfect Storm. This driving fast in the dark was no fun, but someone had to do it, and at least he was dry.

  In the other truck, Jordan was singing some Jesse McCartney at the top of his lungs while the others were attempting to make werewolf pate’. Boom! Bang! Pow! Boom! Bang! Pow! Three different guns…three different sounds.

  The mountains couldn’t be more than a couple of miles ahead. He sped up even more as he heard the sounds of repeated gunfire. He looked over to his left to see the other truck had veered off a little to divide the pack. He tried to look behind the truck for any sign of the beasts, but all he saw was the fire from the guns that Potts, FranAnne, and Mary Sue’s guns.

  Boom! Bang! Pow! The trio was shooting again, this time, though there was a squeal of delight from either a little girl or Cpl. Williams. Probably Williams, he thought. Must’ve got him one.

  “Can you see the mountains?” Potts asked, his voice sounding even louder to Jordan than usual.

  “That’s a big ten-four, Good Buddy! They’re getting larger! My guess…three miles! Over!”

  “Look at the odometer,” Potts’ voice came back. “Give it two miles…then start slowing down! I haven’t seen the lay of the land much past that! There could be anything ahead of us up there to hit!”

  “As compared to what’s behind us, Colonel?”

  “Shut your citole, Jordan, and pay attention! Did you Roger that?”

  “Yessir!” the private replied, saluting.

  There was a moment of silence, then the radio crackled to life again.

  “And if you ever call me Good Buddy again, I’ll feed your balls to the wolfmen. Roger tha-a-a-t?”

  “Loud and clear, Sir!”

  “Good.”

  Then the radio went dead.

  “Hold your fire!” Potts shouted into the radio before handing it back to Kyler, who took it begrudgingly. There was immediate silence, followed by the sound of the truck bouncing up and down.

  Potts tried to look behind them, but the rain was just coming down too hard to see clearly, except when lightning bolts flashed across the sky, of which was often. As a matter of fact, they were hitting the ground in the distance, as well. Potts kept one hand on the neckerchief, and the other one over his forehead, trying to shield his face from the water, while at the same time, search for big yellow eyes. He grabbed the outer rail and stuck his head around the corner to see how far away the Black Mesa’s were. With the thunder and lightning flashing all around them, the mountains looked like a large dragon lying in the distance, waiting for a couple of idiots to come their way.

  “Uh…Colonel?” Jordan’s voice came from between Kyler’s legs.

  “Why don’t you just hang onto it!” he shouted over the rain.

  “D’ya got anything else going on down there?” he asked.

  Kyler blushed knowing that the ladies were giggling.

  “Har…har…tee-hee-giggle-snort!” Kyler retorted sarcastically, trying to flip a raindrop off of his nose.

  “What is it, Private?” Potts asked into the radio. Somehow, his cigar was completely dry.

  “No brakes, Colonel!”

  “Damn!” Potts cursed, biting his lip. “Are you sure?”

  “Yessir…I keep applyin’ ‘em, and nothin’ keeps happenin’! What should I do?”

  Before Potts could answer, the radio was snatched out of his hand by Mary Sue.

  “Speed up!” she shouted.

  “Come again, Colonel?”

  “This isn’t Col. Potts, this is Mary Sue…Sheriff Carter!”

  “Oh okay. Thought you was soundin’ a little girly there for a spell, Colonel!”

  The son-of-a-bitch hardly speaks for days, and now…shit, he must still be stoned, Mary Sue thought to herself.

  “I want you to speed it up!” she shouted. “We’re gonna give ‘em a dose of their own medicine!”

  As the lightning bolts flashed, Jordan tried to look at the speedometer to see how fast he was going, but the needle kept going up and down, making it impossible to tell. He wanted to figure out how fast they were going in relation to how far away they were, which equaled the amount of time before they hit the side of the mountain, which they might never make anyway. There could be boulders, trees, and canyons between here and there that could easily kill them.

  “Any time you’re ready!” he sang into the walkie-talkie.

  The werewolves were having trouble keeping up with the murderous two-leggers. The Leader of the Pack and four others had chased Jordan’s truck when it had veered right, splitting the pack in two, and now the wind and the rain was making it nearly impossible to pick up the scent. They tried to follow the lights, but again the wind and the rain made it impossible. All they could do was follow the sounds of the two-legger shells.

  The Leader of the Pack had lost track of which two-legger killed its mate with their fire-rock, so it would just get them all. Instinct told it that they were headed precisely where it wanted them to go. Perhaps it was also a hunter by day, because the whole scenario felt familiar to it.

  The Pack heard a high-pitched sound and stopped. The rain was shooting sideways, causing them to have to shield their faces from the sky water. The Leader panted, and turned its face to the water, and opened its mouth. The sky water felt cool on its tongue. Seeing that the Leader was taking five, the other four did the same, and began to drink the sky water.

  Then they heard the sound again, except this time it was longer. Then suddenly, they saw the backlights flashing on and off, while the honking continued. The Leader stopped drinking, and emitted a low snarl. A few moments later, the others followed suit. One after another, they snarled, and then howled, filling the night with their death song.

  The five werewolves began to run toward the truck, which now had its hazard lights on, and was honking constantly. As the creatures got closer to the truck, it began to speed up, spinning its tires as it did, and sending mud into the werewolves’ faces. Before they had a chance to become angry, they heard a noise from their left. When they turned, they were suddenly blinded by the lights of the other truck, which was attacking them from the side…splitting the herd into, just like wolves and werewolves
did when they wanted to thin out whatever herd of animals that had meat-on-the-hooves…and now it was being done to them.

  The Leader of the Pack and another werewolf jumped forward, while two more jumped backwards and out of the way, leaving two in the path of the truck. When Sam collided with the two beasts, he sent one flying off to their right, while the other one was dead center in the truck’s path. All it had time to do was roar one last roar at the two-leggers, before it went under the truck, its bones crunching into powder as it rolled up into a ball.

  “Shake the sumbitch!” Potts yelled into the radio.

  “Easier said than done, Colonel!” Sam answered. “Especially when I have only one hand on the wheel.”

  “Fong put your hand back on the wheel or…!”

  “I know, you’ll feed my balls to the ‘hairy-asses’!” Sam interrupted.

  He laid the radio down next to him and swerved left and right until he could feel the thing shaking loose. Finally, he unwedged it just as the four werewolves that had been chasing them caught up with the others. As they began to pull away, Potts dropped another silver grenade out of the back of the truck. The initials etched upon it had been ‘G.B.’. Gringo Boots. The grenade exploded, taking out two of the werewolves.

  “Go!” Jefferson yelled, looking out the back. They were still going fast, but the mud would soften the blow.

  Peter, Werner, and Astrid climbed over the tailgate and onto the bumper. The big German adjusted his pistols, knife, and rifles, then smiled at the twins and said something to them before jumping off the back of the truck. The twins shrieked as they watched Peter rolling on the ground, but quickly jumping back up and waving at them. The twins looked at one another, took each other’s hand, and jumped. Jefferson watched as the two disappeared out of sight.

  “All right, Little Lady, it’s your turn,” Jefferson yelled as Lauren, Joe, and Williams stepped up.

  Jefferson and Williams helped her over the side, where she stood for a moment, looked into the darkness below her, and then jumped. Before she even rolled on the ground once, Joe had jumped over the tailgate and hit the ground, rolling several times before he got up and got his bearings. As the two were standing up, they heard something that sounded like ‘Geronimo!’ before hearing a loud splash, followed by a loud ‘oof!’. They ran up in time to see a muddy Williams, on his hands and knees searching for something.