by Wayne Smith
The werewolf gave the door a final vicious kick and it split down the middle.
* * * *
Thor and the kids were almost within sight of the house when they heard Mom’s calls and the crashing sounds that followed. Thor had been following the boys disinterestedly, but at the sound of Mom’s distress he forgot his problems and his gut took over. He broke into a full run for the house, leaving the kids behind as if they were standing still. He leaped the gully and dashed across the yard toward the broken kitchen door.
“Hurry up!” Teddy yelled at Brett.
“I’m scared,” Brett confessed tearfully, standing in the path and holding his crotch.
“You wanna miss the action?” Teddy asked, incredulous. He had no doubt of Thor’s ability to defend them.
Brett hesitated and Teddy lost patience. “You do what you want. I’m goin’!” And he ran for the house, hoping he wouldn’t miss the fight between Thor and the monster.
Brett watched his brother cross the yard, thought for a second, then took off after him. No way he was going to stay in the dark woods alone.
* * * *
Thor burst into the kitchen, ready for trouble. He could feel the danger in the air.
The Bad Thing’s scent was everywhere, mingled with the scent of Mom’s fear. He ran straight for the stairs without checking the living room or dining room. He knew where Mom would be.
He was halfway up when he heard her scream from Debbie’s room. He sprang onto the landing, his claws uselessly skidding on the hardwood floor as he pulled a tight U-turn around the bannister. The Bad Thing was hurling itself against Debbie’s bedroom door, and the door was cracking. Mom’s screams filled the house.
He barked savagely as he charged the Bad Thing, hoping to distract it, but the Bad Thing ignored him. It threw itself against the door and the door popped open, sending the creature tumbling into the room and onto the floor.
Thor leaped onto the Bad Thing’s back, snapping at its neck. The Bad Thing howled and stood up, hurling Thor off. Before Thor could regain his balance, the Bad Thing dove at him, sinking its fangs deep into Thor’s thigh.
Thor whipped his head around and snapped at the werewolf’s face, catching its nose with his fangs and tearing one nostril open. The werewolf pulled away with its teeth still in Thor’s flesh, opening a long gash in his leg. Thor scrambled to his feet and leaped at the werewolf’s face, ready to bite any part of the beast that came within reach.
The werewolf was tall and powerful but not fast. It tried to bite Thor but got its own face bitten instead. It tried to swipe him with its claws, but Thor caught its hand in his teeth and nearly severed a finger.
The creature backed into a corner and Thor lunged for its ankles, but the werewolf managed to land a wild kick in Thor’s rib cage, knocking him off his feet.
But instead of closing in for the kill, the werewolf turned and leaped on Mom, who was still crouching in a corner, shielding Debbie and holding a huge knife in her hand.
Mom screamed and thrust the knife forward and the blade sank into the Bad Thing’s forearm and lodged in bone. The werewolf howled and flailed its arm, sending the knife flying across the room.
Thor got to his feet as the knife clattered to the floor. He lunged at the monster.
With the werewolf’s back turned to him, he went for the only target — its leg. His teeth sank into the Bad Thing’s calf and he jerked his head violently, trying to pull the Bad Thing’s foot out from under it. The Bad Thing wailed and stumbled backward, and for the first time there was a note of fear in its howls.
Thor pulled free, taking a chunk of skin and muscle with him as the Bad Thing tripped over Debbie’s dollhouse and fell onto its back. Thor leaped on its chest and the Bad Thing brought its arms up to protect its throat. Thor snapped at its hands, but the Bad Thing rolled over sideways, tossing him off and sending him sliding across the floor.
The Bad Thing made a dash for the door, but Thor snagged its ankle. It spun around and kicked him in the ribs, following up with a sharp kick to Thor’s head.
Thor staggered for a split second, then his front legs folded under him, and he fell to the floor, barely conscious.
The Bad Thing bent over Thor’s stunned form, about to tear the dog to shreds when white-hot pain suddenly exploded in its back as Mom plunged the knife into it again and again.
It swung its arms around and blindly struck Mom’s face. She staggered backward as the werewolf dashed for the open door.
Thor pulled himself to his feet just in time to see the Bad Thing dart out of the room, closing the door behind itself, like a human.
Thor barked maniacally at the door, but it did no good. He was trapped unless Mom let him out, and Mom was huddling in a corner with Debbie. She had no intention of opening the door.
* * * *
Brett and Teddy had reached the top of the stairs just as Mom was stabbing the werewolf’s arm. Petrified with fear and completely unaware of his actions, Brett backed toward Mom and Dad’s bedroom as he watched, tugging on Teddy’s jacket the whole time. Teddy unconsciously allowed himself to be pulled backward, clutching the crowbar in both hands like a baseball bat.
There was a terrific scuffle in Debbie’s room and the werewolf suddenly broke free and burst into the hall, slamming the bedroom door behind itself. Teddy and Brett both screamed as Brett pulled Teddy through the doorway and slammed the door. Luck had led them to the right room. Mom and Dad had a lock on their bedroom door. Brett snapped it shut and he and Teddy leaned against the door in panic. But the werewolf wasn’t interested in them. It ran past the door and down the stairs.
Teddy opened the door as soon as he heard the creature’s footfalls on the stairs. He ran to Debbie’s room and opened the door, terrified of what he might find, and was immediately knocked off his feet as Thor rushed after the Bad Thing.
* * * *
Thor flew down the stairs and caught up with the beast in the kitchen, but the Bad Thing heard him coming, and turned the kitchen table over in Thor’s path.
Thor’s head struck the tabletop and his field of vision burst into fuzzy whiteness that faded quickly into black.
* * * *
Tom cleared the last few feet of forest and leaped the gully into the backyard, carrying a heavy branch for a club. He’d run home as fast as he could, his feet and legs and lungs burning the whole way.
He huffed up the yard toward the house just as the werewolf emerged through the split kitchen door, limping and snarling and shiny with its own blood. Tom had no way of knowing whose blood it was. In his mind he saw his family torn and bleeding, and savage hatred engulfed him.
He ran straight for the monster, swinging the club in a circle over his head and screaming in rage.
The injured werewolf dodged and tried to duck as their paths crossed. Tom swung at its head, missed, and brought the club around again. The next swing came low and struck the werewolf’s back as it ran for the woods.
The beast’s bloodlust was completely forgotten. Bleeding and battered as never before, it thought only of escape and survival. It limped past Tom faster than most humans can run, and disappeared into the sheltering darkness of the trees.
The moon was already approaching the western horizon.
* * * *
Neighbors on both sides of the house peered through lighted windows, trying to see what was happening. Mrs. Truud next door got a clear look at the werewolf and called the sheriff to report that she’d just seen Bigfoot. The deputy on duty was unconvinced, but agreed to send a patrol car. Mr. Truud believed her, though, and stood guard at his back door with a shotgun until the law arrived.
* * * *
Thor felt like he was under water. Bright light assaulted his eyes. His gaze moved lethargically from one strange face to another as they gradually became familiar. Mom. Brett. Teddy. Debbie. Dad.
Dad was talking to Mr. Truud, who had come over to lend Dad his shotgun for the night.
The kitchen came into fo
cus, and Thor realized he was home. Then he remembered it wasn’t his home anymore.
He crawled into a corner, and when Brett went over to pet him, he got up and crawled into the alcove with the washing machine and his dish.
* * * *
Dad watched Thor flee the family and swallowed hard. He’d never felt so ashamed of himself.
Flashing, spinning lights filled the living room as the squad car pulled up in front of the house. Dad thanked Mr. Truud, stashed the shotgun in the cupboard, and he and Mom went into the living room to talk to the deputy.
* * * *
Teddy saw the flashing lights from the patrol car and assumed it was for himself and Brett and Thor. He waited until Mom and Dad were at the front door, whispered to Brett, and quietly walked to the back door and opened it. Brett had been tugging on Thor’s collar without results, but as soon as Thor heard the door open he slinked out of the kitchen and through the door like a blob of mercury.
* * * *
Thor felt a tremendous sense of relief once he was out of the house and away from the Pack. He ran straight into the woods, ignoring the pain in his thigh and the dull throbbing in his head. The warm weight of exhaustion urged him to rest, and he smelled his own blood trickling down from the wound the Bad Thing had inflicted on him. Instinct told him to lie down and tend to the wound and allow it to heal, but there was no time. The moon was in the western sky and dropping fast. Its light would soon be gone. And Thor’s loss of blood was sapping his strength. He had to catch the Bad Thing before he grew too weak.
At least he would have no trouble finding the Bad Thing. It had left two trails to follow: the fear-laced body scent that told him where the creature had been, and the powerful blood scent that told him where it was now. The two trails coincided perfectly, which meant the Bad Thing was making the worst mistake a hunted animal can make: It was running directly into the wind.
Thor pressed forward, noting with pleasure that the blood scent was gradually getting stronger, which meant he was closing the gap between them. He’d gone a fair distance when he noticed the Bad Thing’s body scent was beginning to fade, and yet strong traces of it remained. Then he realized that the unchanged scent was from hairs left behind. The Bad Thing was molting, losing its fur. The fur scent grew stronger until suddenly Thor felt a fiery itch inside his nose. He stopped in his tracks and sneezed uncontrollably.
He’d sucked one of the Bad Thing’s hairs into his nostril. It took multiple sneezes to blow it out and as soon as he sniffed again, he sneezed again. The air was thick with drifting hairs. The Bad Thing had lost almost its entire coat in this one spot. Thor stopped and sneezed helplessly for minutes before he finally held his breath and plunged through the cloud of hairs.
When he’d gone a few yards, he took a tentative breath. The air was clear and the blood scent was still strong, but the Bad Thing’s body scent was gone. In its place was Uncle Ted’s.
The sudden smell of Uncle Ted brought with it a fresh stab of guilt, but Thor pushed the feeling aside. Guilt or innocence didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, except for the one thing he still had to do.
Eliminate the threat.
The blood scent on the wind abruptly got stronger, much stronger. That could only mean Uncle Ted was doubling back. Thor looked around to orient himself and was satisfied that he was deep enough in the woods to enjoy complete privacy. He focused his ears in the direction of the house and stood perfectly still, scanning and listening intently for any sounds of pursuing humans.
Nothing.
Perfect.
The sky began to lighten as he pressed forward, taking his time to conserve his strength, now that he knew the prey was coming to him. He hadn’t gone far before he heard the first telltale sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling in the distance. Instinctively, he lowered himself into a semi-crouch as he silently crept forward.
The sounds of Uncle Ted’s clumsy approach came closer and closer. Thor’s fatigue seemed to fade away as a new surge of adrenalin flooded his bloodstream. He heard a sudden burst of stumbling footsteps that abruptly stopped, then the sound of Uncle Ted’s heavy, ragged breathing, and then the man came into view. He stood just a few yards away, clutching a tree for support, a dark naked figure looming against the sky. The smell of blood radiated from him and his posture announced pain and weakness. As the forest gradually lightened, Thor saw the wounds on Uncle Ted’s face and arm and leg. They were open and still bleeding from the exertion of his flight, like Thor’s. Uncle Ted looked like he was ready to die on the spot.
Thor crept toward him as slowly and silently as a cat, with his eyes locked on the man’s throat. The hair on his shoulders stood at attention.
Uncle Ted looked up from his injuries at the faint but growing light on the horizon. He seemed confused, unsure of his whereabouts. And unaware of Thor’s presence.
Thor inched closer, trying to stay in the shadows. He got within fifteen feet when Uncle Ted finally saw him.
“Thor!” he said as if he were greeting an old friend. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Thor! I thought you were gone, old buddy.”
Thor stopped and regarded the shadowy form.
“So, I guess I’ve been a Bad Dog, huh? Is that why you’re here?” He snorted. “Unless I miss my guess, the game’s up. Isn’t that right, Thor?
“So what’s it gonna be? You gonna stand there all night, or are you gonna resolve this fucking mess once and for all? There’s only one way this can end, you know. And you’re the one with the answer. I’m counting on you. Why don’t you get it—”
Thor leaped, turning his head sideways to accommodate Uncle Ted’s neck.
Uncle Ted almost fell backward as Thor’s fangs slammed into the flesh on either side of his Adam’s apple, penetrating the skin as if it were tissue paper and clamping his trachea shut, but Uncle Ted’s grip on the tree tightened involuntarily, as if holding on could somehow save him. For the briefest instant, Thor dangled in the air, his body suspended by the man’s windpipe. Then he jerked his head violently to one side, and a section of Uncle Ted’s trachea tore loose in Thor’s mouth, dropping him to the ground.
Uncle Ted staggered backward and fell on his back, unconscious. He was physically able to breathe, but when Thor’s fangs entered his neck, they severed his carotid arteries. By the time he hit the ground, millions of Uncle Ted’s brain cells had already died of oxygen starvation. Only seconds remained of his life.
The smell of blood was overwhelming, almost suffocating, a sure sign that the Bad Thing was mortally wounded. But Thor had to be sure. He pulled himself to his feet, saw that Uncle Ted wasn’t moving, and collapsed.
He’d done his Duty. He’d killed Mom’s brother.
At least he didn’t have to go back to the House of Death. Thor could already feel the Angel's fingers stroking his head, relaxing the tension in his face. Already his pains, physical and emotional, were beginning to fade under the Angel’s touch.
The Angel delicately stroked his eyes shut and Thor slipped away from consciousness, away from pain, away from Badness and aloneness, and into oblivion.
Chapter 17
“Five thousand is ridiculous,” Tom said into the phone. “You don’t have a case and you know it.” He gazed out his office window and wished he could bluff a little more convincingly, but his heart wasn’t in it.
“Look, counselor,” the lawyer on the other end said, “I’ll be straight with you: The suit may not fly, but the Animal Control people are a little easier to convince than a jury. Now five thousand is a lot for a dog, it’s true. But I have to tell you, my client would be just as happy to see your dog die. I don’t know what went on between you two, but I’ve never seen him like this before. It’s not business as usual this time. I’ve been specifically instructed not to bargain on this, and the only reason I am bargaining is so you won’t lose your dog.”
And so you won’t lose your commission, Tom thought. Who do you think you’re fooling, you pathetic litt
le sleazeball?
“All right,” Tom said. “Five thousand.” He idly flipped through his desk calendar and said, “Today is Thursday . . . a week from tomorrow is the first chance I’ll have to take care of this. Can you be in my office then?”
The man on the other end pretended to consult his own calendar, then said, “Sure. How’s three o’clock?”
Tom’s secretary stuck her head in the office and said, “Sheriff Jensen is here to see you.”
Tom cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and said, “Just a minute.” To the phone he said, “Fine. You have Flop— your client here ready to sign the waivers, and I’ll have the five thousand.” Unless Thor’s already dead by then, in which case you can both go straight to hell.
He finished the call and gently put the receiver on the cradle, watching his hand to see if he could detect any shakiness. Oh, what the hell? he thought. I’m nervous and I’m going to stay nervous until this is over. No point trying to bullshit Art about it. He took a deep breath and unconsciously ran his hand over his hair, a gesture usually reserved for crucial board meetings and expensive consultations.
“Well,” he muttered to himself, “can’t put it off any longer.” He got up and walked to the door, opened it, and said with slightly forced bonhomie, “Hi, Art! C’mon in!”
Sheriff Jensen wore a tight smile that spoke eloquently of his discomfort with the situation. He and Tom had been friends for more than a few years, and he didn’t relish this confrontation. He folded the tabloid newspaper he’d been reading, wedged it into his back pocket, and, looking more like the accused than the accuser, walked resignedly into Tom’s office and made himself as comfortable as possible in the overstuffed chair that faced Tom’s desk.
