The Indian listened, as he threw the chains down by some trees and the men began removing their clothes. They were all hoping that everything would go as planned, as they tied on their loin cloths and got into position by the trees… to begin the wait, for the full moon to shine its face. When the full moon finally appeared, high in the sky, everyone was doing their best to keep their body and emotions under control, without flaw and so far, not one bone has shifted out of place; not a single crunch or snap of bone was heard.
The Indian smiled. He was proud of his men’s success and he felt that their time had finally come. The thought had barely crossed his mind when the Indian heard footsteps crunching down the path and the sound of voices. The Indian had no time to react, before the voices turned into about twenty dirty, scummy-looking white men, who smelled like rotting corpses, the closer they came. The group of filthy men spilled into view, filling in the gaps between the trees of the forest, surrounding the Indian and his crew; the Native American now found himself staring down the barrels of about twenty, or so, rifles.
“Well, well, well… what do we have here?” snarled a brutelooking man, who spat on the ground in front of the Indian. “Was you robbin’ these white men and gonna scalp ‘em, Ingie?”
The man was scanning with his eyes and checking out the situation, looking the chained men, up and down. John and his men kept their focus on the change, remaining quiet and under control, keeping themselves steady.
“Looks like you boys owe us your lives,” the man said next, looking around at the horses and small heap of bags containing the personal property of John and his men. “But, I think maybe we can work out a deal,” he said, rubbing his blackened hands together, a mossy-green smile appearing between his lips. “Naw, I think in exchange, we’ll be taking your things, here, as payment instead,” he said through his disgusting smile. “And, we’ll take care of this here Indian for you.”
The man looked to the chained men, who remained silent and focused. “Sounds like they don’t have no objections to that… do ya now, boys?”
John heard this and for a split moment, he lost his concentration. His shoulder bone snapped out of place with a tremendous ‘crunch.’ One of the younger intruders saw this and he instantly understood why the men were chained to the trees; he’d heard the tales of shapeshifters before.
“Those men are infected… they’re shape-shifters!” the young man began to shout. “We need to get the hell out of here!” He looked up, noticing that the moon was full, scaring him even more.
“Shut up, boy!” the leader of the group shouted back. “That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard!”
The brute man spit again, leaving a long drip dangling from his scraggly beard.
“We have to chop their heads off, or they won’t die… if you don’t, they’ll turn into Werewolves!” the young man argued and begged. He decided that it would be best to put some space between the chained-up men and his self, so he pushed his way to the very back of the group.
“Is he tellin’ the truth, there, chiefy? Are these men really shift shapers… or whatever?”
There was a round of laughter among the crew and the Indian was at a loss for words.
“Well then, we’ll just have to chop their heads off, won’t we?” the leader suggested, smiling through the couple rotten teeth he had left, as the group of bandits snickered a bit more.
“I know not of this shift, you speak of. These men are wanted men,” the Indian guide said, his voice growing bold. “I am a bounty hunter and was on my way to bring them in… to collect the reward of One Thousand Dollars each. I am expected to return soon, so if you would…”
“Well, sonnva’ bitch!” the smelly man interrupted. “That sure is funny! We just happened to be wanted men, too… with a price on our heads!” he snarled. “Were you plannin’ on bringing us in too, there… chiefy?”
“I am not after you,” the Indian firmly answered back. “I don’t know who you are… I don’t even know your names.”
The look the burly man gave the Indian was cold as ice. “Just don’t you worry yourself, what my name is…”
“Hey, Billy, come look at this!” another one in the group shouted over him. “These are some fancy scratches on these guys, here!”
The brute man turned to see what the commotion was as his group of men gathered around to gawk at the scars that were burned into the restrained men’s chests.
“What the hell is this here, Ingie?” Billy asked him suspiciously, spitting again. “Just what kind of weird shit are you up to, out here? Is this some kind of Indian sacrifice?”
The Indian just looked towards the ground, not saying anything, trying to figure a way out of this predicament.
“You say these men are worth a thousand each?” one of the younger dirt bags chimed in. “Is that dead or alive?”
The Indian didn’t have a chance to answer, before a roaring blast from a gun penetrated the night. And then, another… and another, as the young man shot the chained men, blowing holes into each of their chests. Blood gushed from the wounds, spilling to the ground, as their heads dropped down.
“Never mind, Billy, them scratches is gone now!” the young man shouted, raising another round of hearty laughter between the men.
As the laughter faded, the shooter turned around, raising his gun and he pulled the trigger once more. This time, the gun was aimed at the Indian, who took the full impact of the blast, straight to his head, leaving behind a bloody stump, gushing in its place. The Indian’s body fell to ground, sprawled out and perfectly still. His brains were splattered everywhere and the blood was already forming a thick, red puddle.
“Get them chains off them boys,” Billy commanded. “We’ll take those, too.”
“Hey, we ain’t got no key for these!” the shooter called out, tossing his gun to the side. He walked over to the headless Indian, reaching deeply into his pockets, until his fingers felt the shape of a small metal key. By this time, John and his men have all been untied and they were now laying in the grass, still chained by their feet. The young man took the key and he twisted it inside the lock, with the flick of his wrist, unlocking the chains.
Billy stepped over to help, dragging the heavy links away from the men, who remained motionless on the ground.
“See?” Billy called out with a laugh. “They’re dead, wolf boy! Ain’t no sense in axin’ ‘em up into little pieces,” he joked. “We don’t need any more heads disappearin’ on us, now!”
There was a brief moment of silence, before the night took a drastic turn for the unsuspecting band of thieves. To the men’s surprise, the five bodies on the ground all began to twitch and snap, thrashing around in a violent tantrum. The sound of crunching bones sickened the crew who stood watching and one of them even threw up. But, for some reason… they didn’t run.
John was still mutating into form, as he rose up to his feet and he was now standing face-to-face with Billy. He brought himself within an inch of Billy’s horrified face and he let out a long, low growl, while the hair on his face and body grew before the frightened man. Billy stood, looking back, speechless, not quite sure what he should do. John’s eyes began to glow, bright red and Billy looked down with wide eyes, as the hole in John’s chest began to fill in and disappear, leaving behind a fresh symbolic scar in its place.
John’s four unchained brothers were slowly climbing up to their feet; fully changed into their Werewolf form and they were now facing the group of extremely terrified men. A few snaps of bone could still be heard, as the newly transformed wolves crept forward on all fours, their eyes illuminated an intense red.
“Now, hold on, just a minute,” was all Billy could get out.
John brought one of his hands back, ready to swing, but it came to a halt, when it returned into Billy’s view. Long claws grew at the tips of his newly-changed, padded animal foot and he let Billy get a good look at what he was up against; John wanted to see the look of fear, before he ended his life. A
fter rearing up, John stood up on his hind legs, letting out a primal howl that pierced the cool, night air, before swiping with his razor-sharp claws across the helpless man’s chest, ripping it wide-open.
“Please, no!” Billy squealed, as he saw that his ribs were exposed. “Please, please, please… I’m real sorry!” he cried, tears now streaming down his face.
By this time, the groups of bandits were no longer a group. They were trying to save themselves, running every which way, in a complete state of shock and confusion, while the other four wolves hunted and ripped them to shreds. The sound of men’s screams were once again filling the air, but this time it was music to John Davidson and his men. A few of the bandits tried firing at them, but the bullets did nothing.
John looked down to his dead Indian friend and even in his wolf state of mind it saddened him. He then turned back to Billy, who was begging and pleading for his life.
“P-please, please don’t kill me… I can’t die, you can’t kill….”
Without allowing another word, John took the back of his claws and he gave Billy another swipe from his head down to his feet. His intestines were now spilling out and his lips were nowhere to be found. Billy fell to his knees looking up at John, still trying to speak through his few teeth and cradling his spilled guts in his arms… but, no words were coming out… only moans of pity were heard, as the blood trickled down what was left of his face, dripping from his tattered beard.
John looked up at the full moon that was shining brightly and he let out another primal howl. His Lycan brothers returned the call and the medley of howls echoed in harmony throughout the forest, drowning out the screams of the dying men.
The bleeding bandit raised his hands to John, letting his intestines fall to the dirt in front of him. He folded his hands and begged for mercy, but John had none to give him; he swiped with his sharp claws, once more and the man’s fist rolled into the fire never to be seen again. Even though he had no hands, Billy continued begging, frantically, with the bloody nubs that were squirting at the end of each arm.
Meanwhile, the wolves were swift in their motions and they were precise; their senses were in perfect-tune, as they slaughtered the retreating men. The screams were already beginning to die out in the surrounding woods and the beasts made sure that no one escaped punishment for the death of the Indian. After the last man had been hunted down, the brothers returned, covered in blood and their eyes were alive and glowing like bright embers. They gathered together, towering over Billy and they began putting the dying man out of his misery. Bradley was first, biting down on the man’s shoulder, ripping his arm off, as he screamed out. Billy bled profusely from the torn limb, but he was still trying to win the sympathy of the vengeful beasts. Nathan joined in, ripping off the other arm that Billy was still wagging in the air, viciously chewing up the bones that crumbled and crunched under the pressure of his powerful jaw. Bradley and Nathan backed away and Wayne moved in, snatching up the pile of intestines that was spilled in the dirt and he ripped them away with a snap of his claws. Anthony and John could no longer resist the urge to kill and they both moved in on what was left of Billy, finishing him.
Satisfied, the wolves, under their own power, quickly returned back to their human form, much faster than they had before; they were learning quickly and were already getting better at the change. As the men took a moment to assess the destruction, John noticed something poking out of the dead man’s pants and he reached down into Billy’s pocket. His hand returned into view, holding out some rolled-up papers.
“Well, Billy may have been a low-down, scumbag, murderer, but at least he was an honest about it.”
With that, John held up a wanted poster to show the others. “Each man we just took out was worth five-hundred dollars… dead or alive.”
The men exchanged looks and they all began smiling broadly.
John looked to the posters one more time and said, “Gather up some heads… looks like we have a new business, boys.”
Chapter Seven
The morning was dark and the sky was full of gloom. John Davidson reached his hand out to catch a drop of rain that had slipped through the trees. “How fitting,” he said, looking up at the cloudy sky above him.
The men were busy, gathering all the sticks and branches they could find and they were laying them out, according to size, for a raft they were going to build for the Indian’s final resting place. When the men were finished building, they placed the body of the Indian onto the platform and a few words were said, before it was lit on fire. Nathan stuck his foot out and placed it on the edge of the floating grave, giving the raft a slight nudge, pushing it out into the gentle current of the Mississippi River. The men were silent, the drops of rain the only sound, as they witnessed the flames consume the Indian’s body that was slowly drifting downstream.
“Start rounding up the bodies of these bastards,” John finally said, breaking the peace. “Salvage the heads and we’ll burn the rest. We should have a good reward to collect… and pump a few bullets into those skulls… make it look like we gunned them down.”
The men did as they were told and after they unloaded a few rounds into the severed craniums, they tied them together by the hair of their heads and beards. Bradley and Wayne found some more branches and they constructed another platform, that Anthony tied to the rear of one of the horses, in order to drag the tall pile of heads; it would be a short journey to collect the bounty. Most of the trip was taken in silence and the men spent the time pondering their newfound powers. The men were no longer considered just ordinary Werewolves. With the control finally conquered… John and his men had now graduated on, to becoming full-grown, shape-shifting Lycans.
After a few hours of smooth traveling, the group arrived at an outpost, where there were some military personnel stationed. They turned over the severed heads, along with the bloody roll of wanted posters they’d discovered in Billy’s possession to one of the men standing guard by a large tent. John also handed over their maps of the new territory and the man in charge went to go count out their handsome payments. John and his men had only been there for a matter of moments and gossip had already spread amongst the soldiers. Everyone there was wondering, how a group of five, mildmannered explorers managed to take out an entire gang of twenty, or so, dangerous fugitives, without getting a scratch.
A man suddenly popped out from inside the tent and he approached the patiently waiting men: the captain. His eyes became large, as he scanned the pile of heads, amazed that the group of bandits had finally been taken down. They were a notorious bunch and they’d been on the run, robbing, raping and killing, for a long while: the army had been after them, for a long time, with no such luck.
“Why do you just have the heads?” the captain inquired, as he sipped a steaming liquid out of a tin cup. “Where’s the rest of them… their bodies?”
He looked at the men with a suspicious look and asked John, “Are you sure, you caught ‘em? Or, did you just find ‘em this way?”
“It was a five day trip,” John explained without a hint worry. “And, the animals just kept chewing away at ‘em every night. We figured we’d ease up our load and keep the critters away, by just chopping their heads off,” he answered with an enormous smile, his teeth looking like they could use a rinse, down by the riverbanks. “There’s quite a few bullets bouncing around in those skulls, I can’t imagine why the wildlife was so hungry for ‘em… they were certainly a filthy bunch.”
“Well, you boys sure did your country a hell of a service,” said the captain, smiling back… his dental hygiene was not much better. “These guys were the worst of the worst. They were wanted for all kinds of horrible things,” he mentioned, looking back down to the mess of decapitated heads. “How did you guys manage to kill all of ‘em?”
“We got the drop on ‘em,” John instantly replied. “And, they were pretty drunk, which gave us a pretty good edge. But, they did kill one of my team…
our Indian guide. We had to bury him, before we came this way,” he said, disappointment in his words. “It’s a damn shame, too… he was good blood.”
“Sorry to hear about that, guys,” the captain said, shaking his head. “That’s something I’ve experienced often and it’s something you can never quite get used to.”
The captain disappeared back inside of his tent for a few minutes and he returned with a few small stacks of dollar-bills in his hands. “Here’s ten thousand for the men and another ten thousand for the maps,” he stated, as he turned the cash over to John.
“Captain?” John began, as he took the money. “My men and I decided that we’d like a break from the mapping business. Do you have any more wanted men, needing to be tracked down?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” the captain answered. “Here, you bring in this elusive bunch and you’ll be famous,” he declared, digging around for a few posters. “It pays a bounty of twenty-thousand dollars.”
“We’ll handle it, Captain,” John said, as he thumbed through the posters. “We’ll be back in two weeks.”
The captain laughed and replied, “Good luck with that. They’ve been on the loose for years now,” he explained. “Last time anyone’s seen ‘em was somewhere around in Southern Indiana.”
He sipped his cup and turned his direction back to his tent. “You guys watch your back out there, now. These are the kind of guys that shoot first and ask questions later.”
The Lycan Chronicles Page 6
