by Jeff Strand
"You cannot even imagine what I'm going to do to you," said Ivan. "Not even in your worst nightmares can you conceive of what's going to happen."
"That's pretty vague," George noted. "I'd expect more from you. When a guy like you is reduced to threatening me in generalities, I can't help but feel less frightened than I was before you started running your mouth."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
"Then let's just drive in silence, so you can think about what I might do to you instead."
"That completely works for me."
George needed full concentration for this next part, anyway. It was really going to suck. He pressed his dislocated shoulder against one of the cage bars, trying to line the ball up with the joint socket. Of course, he couldn't see the bones inside his shoulder, so he wouldn't know if this was correct until the unpleasant moment of truth.
Thank God Ivan couldn't see what he was doing in the rear-view mirror. He'd purposely swerve or hit a bump.
"So what are you thinking about?" Ivan asked.
"You know, when you keep talking like this, it makes you seem insecure," George said. "Why are you insecure, Ivan? It seems to me like you've got the upper hand. Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Just keep talking. You're only making it worse for yourself."
"You're not even listening. My point is that you're talking too much. It indicates a lack of confidence. I'm supposed to be sitting here thinking 'I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!' but when I hear all of that jabber from you I can't help but believe that you're worried about something."
"Let's say for the sake of argument that I was talking because I was worried. How does pointing that out work to your advantage? I'm curious."
"You might get so mad that you make a mistake."
"Like you did right before I escaped from the cage?"
"Exactly."
"Well, Georgie, I hate to break this to you, but not only am I not going to stop the van so I can go back there and try to scare you, but you're unlikely to do a surprise transformation into a wolfman. You're at quite a bit more of a disadvantage than I was."
"I understand that."
"But if you find my chatter reassuring, hey, that's your decision."
"It's not really a decision. More of a mood."
"Fuck you."
"Now, when I said 'fuck you' before, you made a big deal out of it, like it was a sign of weakness. I don't want to be a jerk about this, Ivan, but my theory about your lack of confidence is still holding up."
Ivan was silent for a moment. "I'm taking your eyelids first."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You wanted specifics? The first thing I'm going to do is very carefully slice off your eyelids. Then we're going to play a fun little game where we each get one of the eyelids, and we flick them against the wall, and we see whose falls off first. It's really kind of a fun game. You'd be surprised how long an eyelid will stick to the wall if it hits with the wet side."
"What if it doesn't?"
"Then it drops to the floor, and it's not a very fun game at all. You have to flick it just right."
George had nothing else to say to that. He took a deep breath, worked up his courage, and then slammed his shoulder against the metal bar as hard as he could.
He bellowed in pain. Michele looked at him with mild curiosity.
"Whoa! What're you doing back there, George?" Ivan asked. "That sounds like it hurt."
George flexed his fingers. His shoulder was throbbing but his arm hurt much less now. One dislocated shoulder fixed.
"You got any aspirin?" George asked.
"Sorry."
"No problem. So where are we going?"
"It's a surprise."
"It's a surprise because you have no idea."
"Hey, George, what was that chick's name I killed? Diane, right? Do you think her kids are home from school yet? I bet the older one got a hundred percent on his spelling test--no, let's say a ninety-five--and he ran all the way home because he was so excited. And he rushed inside, thinking he was going to get a big hug and a kiss and maybe a new video game, and instead he just found a dead mommy."
George clenched his fists and didn't respond.
"What's the matter, George? Decided to stop playing along with our clever repartee? I saw the way you looked when I cut her throat. That was a life-changing moment for poor little Georgie. If you were going to live long enough to experience nightmares again, you'd have a doozy of a bad dream over that."
A trickle of what might have been pus was leaking from one of Michele's eyes. She looked totally out of it.
"Still nothing to say?" Ivan asked. "You know, George, all that stuff you've been saying about how me talking is a sign of insecurity? That's how I see your lack of talking. What's the matter? Is the big bad thug all sad because of the dead mommy's kids?"
"I'm sad about everybody you killed. It doesn't make me weak."
"I say it does. I think you own a vagina now."
"Funny."
"There's nothing funny about vaginas. Some of them have teeth--did you know that? Whenever you've slipped yourself inside one and you're thinking about how nice it feels, there's been about a one-in-ten chance that sharp teeth will close on you."
"What the hell are you even babbling about, Ivan?"
"Just making conversation with the dead man."
"Well, Jesus Christ on a crutch, now you sound stoned. How did vaginas with teeth ever become part of this discussion? Those bullets in your head are starting to mess with you."
"Aw, shit!"
The way he said those words, George knew that they were not Ivan's response to a sudden realization that the bullets in his brain were indeed impeding his thought processes. George couldn't get a good view out of the front of the van from his cage, but it was enough to see that the path had dead-ended in front of a small wooden house.
Now this was a development that George could get behind...unless it was a house full of innocent victims.
Ivan slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He uttered a string of profanity that made even George's own liberal use of expletives sound like baby talk, and then put the van into reverse.
Ivan couldn't possibly know that there was another van on the path. If Lou and Sam were following them, there'd be nowhere for the werewolf to go.
Fantastic.
The front door opened. A large greyhound bolted outside and ran at the van.
"Aw, for God's sake," Ivan muttered.
The dog jumped against the front of the vehicle, barking furiously. But it wasn't a psycho-rabid dog bark; just the regular old bark of a dog that was way too excited to see strangers.
A thin man in filthy overalls came out of the house. "Roxie!" he shouted. "Get back in here!"
Ivan picked up the pistol, pointed it through the broken windshield, and shot the man in the face. His body dropped right to the ground.
Ivan turned around to look at George. "Did you see what you made me do? I had to kill somebody with a goddamn gun! Do you know how that makes me feel?"
The loud barking from the greyhound continued. Ivan held up his hand, transformed it into a wolf claw, then got out of the van. A few seconds later, there was an equally loud yip. Ivan got back inside, his claw dripping with fresh blood. The thumping had stopped.
"That's another one on you," Ivan told George.
If anything, this man's death was less George's fault than any of the other murders today, but he certainly didn't feel any better about it.
Ivan resumed driving the van, backing it up through the path the way they'd come. "If anybody is following us, they're dead," Ivan said.
"Understood." George looked back at Michele, and gasped. Her face had transformed. The change was subtle, but her jaw now protruded a bit and her fingers had grown in length.
"Michele...?"
She shifted position, and there was a loud cracking sound from her legs and back.
"Ahhhhh, shit." Georg
e pressed himself against the other side of the cage. Though the hairs on her arms didn't seem to be growing, they definitely seemed to be swaying in a non-existent breeze.
In terms of self-preservation, the best thing to do was reach over there, grab her head, and give it a sharp, violent twist. Break her neck.
But he just...couldn't.
He couldn't kill an innocent girl.
She cried out in sudden pain, revealing wolf-like fangs.
Okay, if she was about to change into a goddamn werewolf while he was locked in a cage with her, he really needed to break her neck. Morality...stupidity...it was a fine line.
He made a move for her, and she growled. Actually growled.
"Hey!" Ivan snapped. "Don't touch him! He's mine!"
Michele growled again, but then cowered in the corner of the cage. George found it very disconcerting that Ivan had felt the need to warn her and not him.
The hair on her arms continued to move, and it seemed to be getting thicker.
He lunged at her. She hissed and bit at him. George pulled his arm away and decided to scoot back to his side of the cage. He sure as hell didn't want a werewolf bite that might turn him into something like that.
"George, you need to keep your hands to yourself," Ivan warned. "I don't want her to have all the fun, but I'm not going to save you from her. If I only get to watch you die, that's fine, I'll deal with it." Ivan sounded a lot more stressed than he'd been before they realized that the path didn't have any other exits.
Michele began to cry again. He couldn't be certain with her cowering in the corner like that, but her arm seemed to be bent at a weird angle.
He desperately hoped that by the time this was over, he wouldn't be jealous of Prescott and his peaceful demise.
"All you had to do was stay away," Ivan said. "You were free! Do you really think I would have stuck around Florida, or even the United States? I would have fled. I would have been somebody else's problem. How stupid are you?"
"You kidnapped the girl. That's not exactly fleeing."
"Fine. So I would have left the country with a girl that you'd kidnapped yourself, and who may very well murder you any minute now. You should have left it alone. There was no reason for you to stay involved."
At the moment, George was more than inclined to agree with this logic. But let Ivan be the one to dwell on the past--George just needed to stay calm and hope that this she-wolf continued to listen to her master's instructions.
Michele's body shook and tears trickled down her cheeks but she resumed the growling.
"Michele, fight it!" George said. Yeah, it was a stupid thing to say--he wanted to think she was fighting it, but the encouragement couldn't hurt.
The hair on her arms was definitely growing thicker and darker.
"Fight it! Don't let him win!"
"You're wasting your time," said Ivan. "You might as well be saying that to a cancer patient."
George's father had beaten cancer a decade ago, and he credited it to his optimistic outlook on life, so George continued with renewed enthusiasm. "Michele, listen to me! I promise you that you can beat this!"
Michele shook her head and let out a miserable sob.
"You saw what he can do! He can change whenever he wants! That means that you can, too!"
"Fight it!" Ivan urged. "Use the power of love in your heart!"
"Michele! Stay with me!" George watched in horror as her index finger grew by at least half an inch, and the fingernail changed shape, becoming more like a talon.
"Michele, pray to Zeus!" Ivan said. "Accept Buddha as your one and only savior! Fight it! Fight it! Go team go!"
George wanted to punch him in the face, but had to satisfy himself with an earlier memory of punching Ivan in the face. He scooted a little closer to Michele, though he kept himself a cautious arm-length away. "You have to listen to me. Ivan retains full consciousness when he changes. He doesn't become an animal. He's had more practice, but you're a lot stronger than that little shit! There's nothing he can do that you can't do better!"
"Leave me alone, both of you!" Michele screamed. Her low, distorted voice sounded like she'd been possessed by a demon. It was almost more unnerving than the way her fangs now protruded from her mouth.
"You heard her, George. Obey the lady's wishes." He chuckled. "I am so very glad you're in that cage and not me."
"Michele--"
"Enough!" She let out a long, piercing scream and began to rip at her hair. As her scream went on and on and on, George realized that Ivan was right; she was most definitely not going to be able to fight this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Desire To Feed
Michele's entire body was on fire.
Her vision was red.
She thought her flesh was going to blister and split open, sending bursts of hellfire throughout the world.
She wanted to die.
She wanted to live.
What was happening to her? Was that George? Why was she in a cage? Why was he with her? Were they lovers?
The pain was blinding.
She could feel the blood rushing through her head.
Her bones were breaking inside of her body.
"Michele...?"
She couldn't tell who said that. Dad?
Why did her arms look like that? Were they hers? Whose were they?
Why did her teeth hurt so much?
Who was Michele?
She wanted to die.
She wanted to live.
She wanted to kill.
* * *
Ivan bit the inside of his cheek and tasted the coppery blood. He hated this. Hated losing control. Oh, he still had every intention of taking George somewhere nice and private, and destroying his body one square inch at a time. But he'd completely lost control of the situation. And if he had to abandon the van, he'd have to postpone his revenge, and possibly lose George to Michele's newfound ravenous hunger.
That was bullshit.
He wondered why there weren't any choppers in the air. If the news was reporting the path he'd taken, why wasn't there a police helicopter overhead searching for him?
He wasn't going to be able to easily back the van around this upcoming corner. He'd either have to take it really slow, or risk going off the path and getting the van stuck. Damn it.
Ivan slammed on the brakes as a white van came into view. As he saw that Lou was driving, he transformed his hand into a claw and raked his talons across the passenger seat, howling in fury even though the rest of his body remained human.
Now he had no choice. He had to cut his losses.
* * *
Lou stopped his van just a few feet away from the other one. Though he couldn't see who was inside, he assumed it was Ivan driving.
Prescott and Angie had taken all of the silver-tipped bolts with them, but Lou had placed several grenades on the seat, ready to go. Even if it didn't kill him, a blown-off leg would certainly slow down the werewolf.
Ivan got out of the van, transformed into a full wolfman, and darted off into the trees.
Lou got out as well, a grenade in each hand. He pulled the pin from the first one, and heaved it toward where Ivan had run. It was a good throw. Unfortunately, the blast was not accompanied by a lycanthrope scream.
He'd save the other one.
Lou hurried to the front of the van, as quickly as he was able, and peeked inside. The passenger seat was empty. George was in the cage with Michele, who was flailing around and tearing at her hair.
"Get me out of here!" George shouted. "Hurry!"
"Jesus." Lou limped to the rear of the van and threw open the back doors. What was wrong with her?
From this angle, it was obvious: she was half wolf.
"Unlock the cage! Unlock the cage!"
Michele ripped out a huge chunk of her hair, exposing bloody scalp underneath.
Lou tugged on the cage door. "Does Ivan have the key?"
"I don't know! Go find it!"
Michel
e pounced upon George. He cried out and tried to fend her off. She mounted him like a lover, slicing at him with her new claws.
"Push her over here!" Lou said. "I'll get her!"
"Find the keys!"
Lou went back to the driver's seat, praying that the keys were dangling from the ignition. They weren't. Ivan had them.
He fought off a momentary dizzy spell. The loss of blood was really starting to get to him.
* * *
"Fight it!" George shouted as Michele raked her claws across his chest. He didn't expect this to work anymore, but it was certainly better than shouting something like "Get off of me!" He punched her in the chin. Her head flew back, almost dipping back far enough that it looked like she had no neck, and then it snapped back into place.
George could see the fur sprouting all over her arms and legs. The bandage fell off her shoulder, revealing no trace of a wound underneath.
"Ivan has the keys!" Lou shouted. "Get her over on this side! I'll take care of her!"
George threw another punch but she blocked it. Though she was a werewolf now, she was still smaller than him, and he shoved her off of him. She hit the bottom of the cage, snarled, and bit at his arm. He pulled away.
Oh, God, don't let her bite me. I don't want to become something like that.
What a horrible fate. Better to die at Ivan's claws, with some degree of honor, than to become a drooling, snarling beast and have to be put down like an animal.
He screamed as she bit him.
* * *
Lou couldn't believe how much he was being forced to move around with injuries like his. He went back to the van, climbed inside, and slammed his foot through an opening in the bars, kicking Michele in the head as she bit George on the arm.
Her mouth popped free. George had a red mark but it didn't look like she'd broken the skin.
Now she was out of Lou's range. He turned his attention away from the cage and opened the glove compartment. He grabbed a handful of the contents and tossed them onto the floor, flipping through random papers until he found several of them fastened together by a paper clip.
