by Jeff Strand
Ivan ran to the doorway, bashed the cutesy man out of the way with his right hand, then grabbed the cutesy woman with his left. Instead of killing her, he tossed her over with her lover, then pulled the door closed.
The bearded guy scrambled away, his ass dragging along the floor as he did a clumsy version of a crab-walk. George ran at Ivan again, focusing all of his attention on Ivan's heart, but the werewolf knocked him aside once more. George's landing was not gentle.
As he got up, he noticed two other people in the bar, hiding underneath the table of a booth. Assuming the nice guy with one arm hadn't bled to death yet, that left eight potential victims in there, not counting George and Lou. Ivan might very well make his body count goal.
George caught a glimpse of silver as Lou found the cross and quickly palmed it. Lou got up and wobbled a bit on shaky legs, but didn't fall.
"Hey, Ivan!" George shouted. "You hit like a ferret!"
Ivan let out what was clearly meant to be a derisive laugh. George tried to think of an animal comparison more rage inducing than "ferret" but nothing immediately came to mind.
George had hoped that Ivan might change back just to offer up a snappy retort, but he didn't. Instead, he looked around the bar, still smiling, as if joining George in tallying up his potential victims.
Ivan's ear perked up a bit as he noticed the people under the table in the booth.
The man and woman who were dressed alike grabbed each other's hand and sprinted away from Ivan, running toward a plate-glass window covered by neon signs. Ivan followed, taking down the man before they made it halfway across the bar. The woman bellowed and desperately pulled on her boyfriend or husband's arm, refusing to let go of him even as Ivan slashed at his legs and back.
"Just leave me!" the man shouted, gurgling the words. George winced as Ivan ripped out a particularly meaty strip of his leg, exposing bone.
George picked up another chair.
Lou moved cautiously toward the werewolf, not revealing the cross. His breathing was as heavy as if he'd run a marathon and George hoped that he wouldn't have a massive heart attack before he made it to Ivan.
Ivan extended all ten of his fingers, then slammed his claws deep into the man's neck all at once. The woman finally let go of her lover and ran for the window again.
The two people who'd been knocked down by the bearded guy--another man and woman, also in their twenties, but hopefully not a couple considering their complete lack of interest in assisting each other in a moment of crisis--got the door open again. It slammed into the man's shin and he let out a grunt of pain as the woman opened it, but they both rushed through the doorway and out of the bar.
Two more survivors. If this upset Ivan, he didn't show it. The woman who'd just lost her boyfriend or husband ran straight at the window, arms extended.
Lou took another hesitant step toward Ivan. The werewolf's attention was directed toward the running woman, but it was pretty hard for a guy the size of Lou to sneak up on somebody in a wide-open bar.
George threw the chair as hard as he possibly could, so hard that he thought he might have injured his shoulder. His intent was for the chair to smash directly into Ivan's head, distracting him from the woman long enough for her to escape, during which time George would figure out how to deal with a murderous werewolf whose attention was now on him. The chair didn't hit Ivan's head, but it smashed into his side with enough force to stop him in his tracks.
The woman struck the window. The glass did not shatter. She bounced off, careened to the side, and doubled over in pain.
Taking advantage of Ivan's distraction, Lou picked up his pace and held the cross like a dagger. George hurriedly grabbed another chair to keep Ivan's attention focused on him.
"Did that hurt, you hairy bitch? Did you get a boo-boo?"
Lou was only a couple of steps away from being able to slam the cross into his back. They were, of course, assuming that the silver cross would do a lot more damage than just stabbing him with a regular old sharpened object, and if that turned out not to be the case, Lou was in a lot of danger.
"C'mon, Ivan, you feeble little fuck! We kicked your butt back in the other house, and we'll kick it here!"
Without taking his eyes off George, Ivan suddenly reached out his arm, grabbing Lou by the throat.
Shit...
George was about to rush him, but Ivan held up a hand, palm-out. Don't move. George decided not to move.
Ivan's head transformed back into its human form. Though it should have looked ridiculous to have a big strong wolfman with a human head, George found nothing even remotely comical about his appearance. The bloody bullet holes in his face helped with the lack of amusement value.
"Hey, George, remember when I had my claws on your throat?"
Just had to talk, didn't you? Couldn't resist a little mockery.
"I remember."
"I let you live. Lou's fucked."
Lou slammed the cross into Ivan's arm, burying it about an inch deep. Ivan screamed and released his grip on Lou's neck. His face began to switch between human and wolf features the way it had after George kicked him in the nuts.
Now!
George moved forward. No other chairs were immediately available, so he'd just use his goddamn fists.
Ivan ripped the cross out of his arm, which sizzled at the wound. He flung the cross at the bearded guy, who had almost made it to the open doorway. It struck the back of his head with skull-shattering velocity, and the bearded guy slumped forward, clutching at the immense gash.
The woman kicked the window. This time, her foot broke through.
George threw a punch, aiming for Ivan's kidneys. Let him find out how it felt. The punch connected and Ivan howled.
Ivan spun around and grabbed George. Using both hands, he threw George into Lou, and the two of them stumbled across the bar and hit the floor for the umpteenth time that evening.
The woman kicked at the glass twice more, opening up a hole big enough to escape through. She ducked through the new exit, then lost her balance as Ivan grabbed her by the ankle, digging his claws in deep. She fell onto the glass, breaking through it most of the way to the floor. Ivan dragged her back inside over the jagged remains. Her screaming and flailing around made things much worse for her.
George cringed. Where the hell were the cops?
The cross wound had stopped sizzling and bleeding. Ivan stepped on the woman's legs, grabbed a handful of her long black hair, and jerked her head back, snapping her neck.
The one-armed man lay on the floor and groaned.
The bearded guy wasn't moving. He was either unconscious or dead. Probably dead. Six for Ivan, if you didn't count the trampled woman or the person who'd been shot upstairs.
That only left the couple underneath the table, George, and Lou.
Ivan held up five clawed fingers on one hand and his index finger on the other hand. Then he pointed to the man and woman under the table and held up two more.
They screamed as the werewolf strode over to them. Ivan picked up the table, exposing them completely, then threw it at the bearded guy. Direct hit. Even if he wasn't dead now, he'd never walk, speak, or eat solid food again.
The man and woman cowered against the wall, hands in front of their faces as if that would stave off Ivan's attack.
Ivan transformed his head back again, then beckoned to the man. "Come here."
"No!"
"Here's my offer," Ivan said, speaking calmly although he was breathing heavily. "You get up, walk over here, and let me gouge your eyes out, and I'll let your woman live. Otherwise I'm going to jump over there and rip you both to shreds."
George picked up another chair.
Ivan looked back at him. "Are you fucking kidding me? Enough with the chairs, George! I'm tired of punching you around."
"Really? I'm sure not tired of hitting you with chairs."
"Hilarious. You're a funny guy, George. But I'm not talking to you right now." Ivan looked back at the cou
ple. "It's a straightforward deal, sir. Walk over here, let me poke out your eyes, and she goes free. I swear. How about it?"
The man stood up. Without hesitation and ignoring the woman's horrified wail, he walked right up to Ivan, fists clenched and head held high.
"Holy shit! You actually did it!" Ivan looked around the bar as if to confirm that everybody had seen the same thing. "I can't believe it! I am absolutely flabbergasted! You must love the absolute shit out of her, huh?"
The man nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Well, I--I honestly don't know how to react to this. I kind of figured that I'd just be ripping you two apart." Ivan gestured to the woman. "Go. Get out through the broken window."
"Please don't hurt him," she said, getting to her feet. Sobbing, she ducked underneath the broken pane of glass and left the bar.
"I'm stunned," said Ivan. "Just stunned. Wow. I don't know if you're brave or a complete idiot. You know what? I don't even feel like gouging your eyes out after that. You deserve to keep them. Go follow your woman and get some mega-pussy tonight."
The man turned and hurried out through the broken window. Ivan let him go.
"Can you believe that?" Ivan asked George. "He was going to let me do it. Would you do that for your girlfriend?"
"I don't have one."
"And it's probably because you wouldn't give up your eyes for her. So what's my count? Six..." Ivan walked over to the nice guy with one arm, and slammed his foot down on his head, several times. "Seven. I could cheat and count the poor bitch who got crunched at the door, but I like to play fair."
"So you're one short," George said.
"Yeah. What a disappointment. Do you think anybody else will be dumb enough to come inside?"
"The cops."
"Cops count. I could definitely make it to eight if the cops show up. But that would involve more waiting around, and I can't help but feel that there's another way to achieve my goal. Hmmmm. Let me think..."
George looked at Lou. They exchanged a knowing glance, and then both rushed Ivan at the same time. The "bash him with a chair" tactic hadn't been entirely successful thus far, but if they both got in good hits simultaneously...
Ivan leapt at George, jumping into the air like a wolf going for the kill. George didn't even get to swing the chair before Ivan landed on him, knocking him to the floor yet another time. He had an instant to think that counting the number of times he hit the floor would make a good drinking game, and then his head struck the floor and nothing mattered anymore.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Bad Time To Be Lou
Considering the circumstances, Lou thought he'd done a pretty good job of keeping himself together. He wanted to yell and cry and run around in circles and let the dark specter of madness completely engulf his ass. He could use a little bit of insanity right now to keep him from focusing so much on the current reality.
Unfortunately, either he was locked away in a padded cell having hallucinations about a bloody werewolf massacre at the Cotton Mouse Tavern, or he was entirely sane. If this was a hallucination, he could just sit back, relax, and enjoy his tranquilizers and lobotomy, but for now he had to assume that this was all real, and so he had to act.
Lou was not a man who liked to lose. If he wasted fifty bucks at the slots, he'd be pissed about it for hours. The big difference between himself and George was that Lou would ultimately decide that losing fifty dollars was punishment enough and walk away, whereas George would keep pumping coins into the machine hoping to win enough to make up his losses. And, usually, George would leave with enough cash to pay for the hotel, meals, and a topless show, whereas Lou would be out his fifty bucks and fuming.
But there was no "win" this time. Maybe they'd recapture Ivan, and maybe they'd kill him, but there was no happy ending in store for anybody here.
As George hit his head on the floor, with that werewolf bastard on top of him, Lou saw a sudden flash of his partner's funeral. Closed-casket, of course. Maybe a separate coffin for each piece.
You know, George, Lou had said once, when I die, I don't want a funeral. I don't want people sitting in a church crying over my dead body. I just want a few of my close friends to get together and drink to my memory. Maybe share some stories.
Fuck that, George had replied. When I die, I want people to be depressed. I want them to wear black and I want a thunderstorm and I want people to throw themselves on the casket. Why should people be happy I'm dead?
I don't want them to be necessarily happy that I'm dead. They just don't have to be all bummed out about it. They should remember the good times.
Well, Lou, I hate to break it to you, but when you die, I'm going to be sad.
Lou figured that the best way to save his partner's life was to jam the cross right into the back of Ivan's neck, deep enough that it popped out the other side, and watch him claw at it desperately as his throat dissolved.
Lou would probably fail at that. Especially since he didn't have the cross anymore, and the cross wasn't long enough to go all the way through Ivan's neck anyway. He'd also somehow lost his sterling silver switchblade when Ivan threw him across the bar.
So he had to resort to the second best way to save George's life: lure the werewolf away from him.
He ran past Ivan, shouting "Ferret! Ferret! Ferret!" The insult was just as lame when he shouted it as when George used it, but hopefully the sheer inanity of it would piss Ivan off enough to make him follow.
Ivan did.
Lou ran behind the bar counter. There was a swinging door that he assumed led to a kitchen, but first he grabbed the nearest object, a bottle of white wine, spun around, and flung it at Ivan. It shattered against Ivan's chest, sending glass spraying back at Lou. He grabbed a second bottle and threw it, hitting Ivan in his now-wolfman face. The bottle bounced off and broke in half against the counter. The third bottle also hit Ivan in the face and smashed against his teeth.
Lou pushed through the swinging door, which did indeed lead to a small filthy kitchen. He kicked the door back as hard as he could, and it bashed into the werewolf, knocking him against the counter. Lou heard the crash of a few more bottles falling to the floor.
The door flew open with enough force to knock it halfway off its hinges.
Lou decided to attack before Ivan could leap at him. He rushed forward just as Ivan made the jump, colliding with the werewolf's stomach. The werewolf was stronger. Lou let out a loud grunt as Ivan knocked him back against the metal sink.
Lou thrust his hand into the warm soapy water, grabbed the handle of a frying pan, and smacked it into Ivan's face with a loud clang. Ivan growled and spit out a bloody fang.
Lou took another swing. This time Ivan ducked out of the way. Ivan grabbed Lou's wrist, squeezed hard, and then bashed the frying pan against Lou's face using Lou's own hand. Lou released his grip and the pan clattered to the floor.
Some blood trickled from Lou's nostrils.
Ivan grabbed the back of Lou's neck and shoved his head into the sink. Lou's forehead struck a pot or some other large metal object as he plunged into the water.
He braced his hands against the edge of the sink and tried to push himself up again, but Ivan was too strong. Holding his breath and closing his eyes against the sting of the soapy water, Lou pushed as hard as he could.
His head popped out of the water for an instant, not long enough to gasp for air. Ivan shoved him back down, and Lou hit the same fucking pot. At least he knew his head was durable.
He stomped his feet several times, trying to crunch one of Ivan's paws underneath his shoe, but didn't even hit a toe.
Lou put his hand back in the water and fished around for a moment. He found a fork. He grabbed it by the handle, then slammed it over his shoulder, hoping to strike lycanthrope.
He hit something.
Ivan's grip on his neck loosened. Lou pulled his head out of the water and gasped for breath.
He spun around. The tines of the fork were buried halfway into Ivan's uppe
r right arm. Ivan yanked out the fork and tossed it aside. Too bad it wasn't silver. Then, in a motion like flicking a bug off a table, Ivan slashed his talon across Lou's cheek. He immediately repeated the gesture with his other talon, giving Lou matching cuts.
Ivan grabbed the front of Lou's shirt, then threw him away from the sink. He almost collided with the grill, which was still on. A pair of burnt hamburgers sizzled on it. Clearly the cook had been smart and gotten the hell out of there.
The werewolf pounced. Lou tried to move out of the way but was unsuccessful, and a quick contortion later he found himself in the same predicament as before, except that instead of his face being shoved into warm dishwater, it was being shoved toward a hot grill.
He tried to elbow Ivan in the gut but couldn't get sufficient leverage. His foot slipped out from under him, and his chin came down on the surface of the grill with a thump and a hiss.
He yelped and lifted his head. The searing pain gave him an extra burst of adrenaline, and he wriggled his way out of Ivan's grip, just in time for Ivan to give him another pair of matching cheek slashes.
Now the son of a bitch was just trying to humiliate him.
Lou punched him in the face--a solid uppercut that connected with Ivan's jaw. His teeth snapped shut on his tongue. The werewolf howled.
Ivan swiped at Lou's chest, a ferocious swing that was obviously not meant to humiliate Lou but rather disembowel him. It missed. Not by much. The second swipe missed by even less.
A thick rope of bloody drool dangled from Ivan's lower jaw. He snarled, then attacked.
Lou screamed. It wasn't something he would've ever expected to do. He shouted a lot, but he'd never screamed in his life.
He bashed into the grill again as Ivan struck him. Rational thought disappeared. Lou thrashed wildly, trying to use his own fingers as claws to lash out at Ivan's eyes. He slid to the floor, screaming some more as Ivan slashed at his arms and legs and chest.
