The Howling h-1

by Gary Brandner

  He slept the day through. When he finally awoke in the evening, his mind was clear, but oddly out of synchronization. Karyn was in the living room when he went out. She made no attempt to speak to him, for which he was thankful. He wanted no intimacies now, physical or verbal, with his wife.

  As it grew darker outside the night called to him. He fought against the call as best he could. The portion of his mind that was still Roy Beatty cried out its warning, but its voice was small and far away. Still he made an effort. He built the fire high and sat before it shivering as he fought to stay where he was. And what he was.

  Perspiration soaked through his clothes. Every bone in his body ached. The night forest called out to him, and finally it would not be denied. He could not even wait until Karyn was in bed. The hunger was in him and there was no resisting.

  He sprang to his feet. He looked at Karyn, and for a brief second his face mirrored the agony of his soul. Then he ran out the door and was lost in the night.

  * * *

  Inez Polk sat alone in her tidy little house in Pinyon. She was surrounded by her books of werewolf lore and the yellowed clippings she had saved for years. The glasses kept slipping down her long thin nose as she bent over the maple desk.

  In the two days since she had driven away from Karyn Beatty, Inez had kept herself constantly busy. At school she had volunteered to take the classes of a sixth-grade teacher who was ill. At home she had read over and over these volumes that she already knew so well.

  At first her purpose had been self-prescribed therapy to keep her from thinking about Karyn, about what almost happened to her. By total concentration on her reading and note-taking, she had been able to fall exhausted into bed sometime after midnight the night before.

  Tonight, however, as she carefully read and reread the several versions of the legend of Dradja, something began to tug at her mind. Thoughts of sleep were forgotten as the adrenalin of discovery began to flow.

  The people of the old village of Dradja, even when subjected to unspeakable tortures, refused to give up one of their number to the mob.

  Why?

  Again and again Inez read the words before her. Like a cold draft from an open winter window the truth swept upon her. She knew at last the secret of Dradja. And the secret of Drago.

  "God forgive me," she said aloud. "We were such fools to ask, 'Who in the village is the werewolf?'"

  Without bothering to put her books away, Inez hurried to the closet to get her coat. She rushed out of the house and got into her car, firing the engine with an impatient twist of the key. If she was too late… if anything had happened to Karyn…

  Inez did not let herself complete the thought. She gave her full concentration to driving. Soon the lights of Pinyon were behind her and she was on the road leading to Drago.

  Overhead, ragged clouds slid across the moon. The night was alive with shadows. Just beyond the swash of light from the headlamps a hundred pairs of eyes seemed to watch. Inez gripped the wheel harder and drove grimly on.

  The main street of Drago was empty and dark. Inez slowed the car as she neared Karyn's turnoff. At the entrance to the rutted lane she braked and turned off the blacktop. She had gone only a few yards when the headlights picked out something moving at the side of the road up ahead. Inez tensed as the cold hand of fear came down on her back. The brush parted and a figure stepped out into the road. A man. He raised his hands toward the oncoming car, commanding her to stop.

  "No you don't," Inez said through clenched teeth. "You will not stop me."

  She drove on. The man in the road did not move.

  "I'll run you down," she said aloud. "I know what you are, and I'll run you down before I let you at me."

  The muscles of her arms corded with the effort of holding the wheel straight. She steeled herself for the coming impact. At the last moment she recognized the man standing in front of her, and hit the brake pedal.

  Roy Beatty.

  The car lurched to a stop not an arm's length from Roy, who stood his ground without flinching. Inez let her head sag forward against the steering wheel. For a moment she was faint with relief. Now she was not alone.

  Then she realized there must be something wrong at the house for Roy to be standing out here. She reached across to unlock the door on the passenger's side. Not until the door started to swing open did she realize that the face outside in the dark was not Roy Beatty's. It was not the face of any human being.

  Inez Polk screamed just once, then the beast ripped out her throat. There was hardly any pain, just a bubbling sensation of drowning in something hot, and then it was over.

  The engine of the Valiant continued to idle softly. The only other sound was the crunch of bone as the pale wolf fed its hunger.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Karyn lay on her side with her back to Roy. This was the second night he had slipped out of the house late and not returned until sometime before dawn. Unanswered questions tumbled through Karyn's mind, but she could not find the voice to ask them.

  Although they were not touching, Karyn felt a strangeness about Roy's body as he lay next to her. A subtle difference that she sensed rather than saw. Ever since the morning she had found him lying outside the door something had been working on him. In these few days a stranger had moved in and taken the place of her husband.

  Roy had always been a gentle man, understanding and compassionate. Now, Karyn sensed a rolling violence that might erupt at any time.

  He was sleeping now. A heavy, unmoving sleep. Karyn raised up in the bed to look at him. It was the same square, innocent face, the same pale-blond hair and light powdery eyelashes. The broad chest and the powerful shoulders, bare now above the sheet, were unchanged. And yet… there was something. Even asleep, the man had an aura of danger.

  Karyn lay back down on her side of the bed and stared at the window. She had to leave this place without delay. With Roy if he would agree to go, without him otherwise. One way or another she had to get away from here.

  If Roy was difficult, she would need help from someone else. A friend. Oriole? Dr. Volkmann? No, they were too much a part of Drago. She could never explain to them why.

  Inez Polk. Inez knew what was happening here. She would help. If nothing else, Karyn could stay with her in Pinyon until it could be arranged for someone to come from Los Angeles. With the decision made, Karyn relaxed. She moved well away from the inert form of her husband and, as the dawn broke, lapsed into a shallow sleep.

  When they got up later in the morning Roy was full of energy. His face had lost its pale look of recent days and had a ruddy glow. He was in high spirits. Too high. Almost manic.

  He threw open the window and stood naked before it, breathing deeply. "Just smell that air. Better than wine."

  Karyn watched him carefully. "What shall we have for breakfast?"

  "You have whatever you want. I don't need any breakfast. The beautiful day is my breakfast. The trees, the sky, the song of the birds."

  Karyn tried to smile. "That's very poetic, but not awfully nourishing. Seriously, what would you like to eat?"

  Without warning his mood darkened. "Nothing. Isn't that what I said? I'm not hungry."

  "Roy, we've got to talk."

  "Go ahead, I'm listening."

  "This place is destroying us."

  "That's ridiculous. I never felt better."

  "You said we would leave Drago in a week."

  "Did I?"

  "Yes, you did. But I don't think a week is soon enough."

  "What's the matter? There's no great hurry, is there?"

  "I think there is. I want us to go now."

  He turned to face her squarely. "That sounds like an order."

  "I can't help what it sounds like. I will not stay in this valley any longer."

  "What if I refuse to go?"

  Karyn caught her breath, but answered in a clear, firm voice. "In that case, Roy, I'll go without you."

  A shadow of hurt darkened his eyes for j
ust an instant.

  "This is not some crazy whim," Karyn went on. "I have good reasons — "

  "I don't want to hear your reasons," Roy spat out. "If you're going to come at me with orders and ultimatums, you can forget it." His face hardened into a mask Karyn did not know.

  "I'm going to town," she said. She turned and went out the door without waiting for a response.

  The trees moved restlessly on both sides of the narrow road. A hot desert wind was blowing, funneled into the valley through a gap in the mountains to the east. The walk to town seemed much shorter than the first time she had tried it. If nothing else, the stay in Drago had made her physically stronger.

  Oriole Jolivet hurried out to meet her as she entered the store. "Hey, Karyn, did you hear what happened?"

  "Can it keep for a minute, Oriole? I have an important phone call I have to make."

  "Well, sure, help yourself."

  Oriole's hurt feelings could be soothed later. Karyn picked up the phone and dialed Inez Polk's number in Pinyon. This was Friday, and Inez had classes only in the afternoon.

  The receiver buzzed in her ear as the phone rang on the other end. Karyn waited for the five rings she usually allowed, then five more. No answer. Maybe Inez had gone to school early. Karyn hung up.

  "Nobody home?" Oriole asked.

  "Apparently not."

  Karyn leafed through the telephone book, looking for the number of the school.

  "You weren't tryin' to call that friend of yours from over in Pinyon, that Inez, were you?"

  Something in Oriole's voice gave Karyn a chill. "Yes."

  "Then you haven't heard." Oriole bit her lower lip and shook her head sadly.

  "Heard what?"

  "She was killed last night."

  "Killed?" Karyn felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.

  "Ran her car smack into a tree. It happened on the turnoff up by your place. Looks like she might have been on her way to see you."

  "A car accident?" Karyn's mind wanted to reject the words. "How did it happen?"

  "Hard to say. Anton Gadak thinks she must have dozed off at the wheel. It was him found her about six o'clock this morning."

  It would be Anton Gadak. "Was she dead when he found her?"

  "Yep. Looked like she died instantly, Anton says."

  "Where did they take her?"

  "The hospital over in Pinyon, but I don't think you want to go see her. She was cut up awful bad, Anton says. Must have gone through the windshield."

  Not with her seat belt fastened, and Inez' car would not start without it. Karyn closed her eyes for a moment, realizing the full horror of the situation. Inez must have learned something and have been coming to tell her about it. The only thing that would have brought her over late at night was the identity of the Drago werewolf. Somehow the beast had got her.

  Oriole came over and laid a pudgy hand on Karyn's shoulder. "I'm awful sorry, Karyn. It really hits a person when a friend dies. At least it happened fast. I knew a woman once…"

  Oriole's voice droned on, but her words faded from Karyn's mind. First Roy, now Inez. One by one she was losing the few people she could call on for help. Who was left? A name jumped into her thoughts. Chris Halloran. She had forced herself not to think about Chris since the day she had so cruelly sent him away. She had thought vaguely that she would make it up to him someday. Now she had no time.

  She wondered if Chris would even speak to her after her hysterical performance. But he was all she had left.

  "… know how you feel, Karyn, but these things happen. Like they say, life goes on." Oriole's voice came back into her consciousness.

  "Is it all right if I make a long-distance call?" Karyn said. "I'll ask the operator how much it is and pay you for it."

  "Sure it's all right. Who you calling?"

  "A friend. In Los Angeles."

  Oriole stood her ground until Karyn made it clear by standing with her hand on the receiver that she was not going to place the call until she was left alone.

  "I'll, uh, go attend to some things in the back," Oriole said.

  Karyn nodded. It was too late to bother with the niceties of courtesy. When Oriole had gone she asked for the Los Angeles information operator and got from her the number of Chris's company, Western Industrial Design. She dialed the number, and a woman's voice answered with the name of the firm.

  "I'd like to speak to Mr. Halloran."

  "Mr Halloran didn't come in today. Can someone else help you?"

  "Do you happen to have his home phone number?"

  "I'm not sure I should — "

  "It's all right, I'm Mrs. Roy Beatty. My husband and I are personal friends of Mr. Halloran."

  "Oh, yes, Mrs. Beatty, I've heard him mention your name. Hold on a second, I'll get the number for you."

  As Karyn waited, Etienne Jolivet came in the front of the store. He nodded to her solemnly.

  "Is that you, Etienne?" Oriole called from the back. "Can you come out here a minute?"

  The tall man moved silently past the counter and through the door into the back room.

  The girl came back on the line and gave Karyn Chris Halloran's home telephone number. Karyn memorized it, thanked the girl, and hung up. She called the operator back and asked the charges for the call. It came to $1.19. She noted the sum on the back of a brown paper bag and picked up the phone again. She dialed the Los Angeles area code and Chris's home number.

  Be there, she thought. Oh, please, God, let him be there. The receiver buzzed in her ear. Halfway through the second buzz there was a click. Karyn went weak with sudden relief. She opened her mouth to say hello, but before she could frame a greeting, Chris's voice came on the line.

  "Hi, this is Chris Halloran. Sorry I'm not home at the moment. What you're hearing is my answering machine. If you'll wait for the beep, then leave any message and your number, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

  Karyn wanted to sob in frustration as another hope flickered out. She started to lower the receiver back into the cradle; then the electronic tone beeped faintly. There was still the possibility that Chris was just out of the apartment for a moment. It would be foolish for her to have come this far and not even leave a message.

  What could she say? How much time did these things allow for a message? Sixty seconds? Thirty? In as calm a voice as she could manage, Karyn began to speak.

  "Chris, this is Karyn Beatty. I'm in trouble, and I need your help. If you hear this, please come to Drago for me. And, Chris, bring a gun."

  She hesitated, knowing how crazy the rest of it would sound. She forced herself to go on. "Load the gun with silver bullets if you can. There isn't time to explain anything now, but please, oh please, Chris, believe I need you."

  Gently she replaced the instrument and stood for several seconds staring down at it, wondering what effect her words would have on Chris Halloran. Wondering if he would even hear them in time.

  "All through with your phone calls?"

  Karyn started, then put on a smile as Oriole Jolivet came up beside her.

  "Yes, I am. I'll just find out how much it was." She dialed the operator and was told that the charge was another $1.19.

  "The total comes to $2.38," she told Oriole. She dipped into her change purse for two dollar bills, a quarter, dime, and nickel.

  "I'll owe you the two cents," Oriole said.

  "I guess I can trust you for it." Karyn tried to smile, but her face felt all wrong.

  Oriole regarded her soberly. "Listen, Karyn, if there's anything I can do, anything at all, just say the word. People sometimes think I'm just a fat, silly woman. I'm more than that."

  "I know you are, Oriole," Karyn said softly.

  "And maybe I'm not an old friend, but I can be a good one if you'll let me. You know where to find me. You tell Roy hello for me, now, and come on back when you feel like playin' some gin."

  "I will," Karyn said. "And thank you, Oriole. Goodbye."

  She went out of the st
ore, and the hot desert wind pushed against her as she walked up the street. The dry heat sucked away the moisture of her skin, leaving it feeling scaly. In Los Angeles they called it the Santa Ana wind. They said it made people a little bit mad.

  In the shadow of a doorway on the far side of the street — always in the shadow — stood Anton Gadak. His eyes were invisible under the brim of the Stetson. Karyn looked away quickly and hurried on.

  When she reached the turnoff to the road that led to her house, Karyn stopped and looked around. There was no tree anywhere near the road that was big enough to smash a car. Whatever had killed Inez Polk, Karyn was sure it was not an accident.

  A short distance up the narrow lane, something glittered on the ground. Karyn bent down to look, and recognized the metal frame, now twisted, and thick lenses of Inez' glasses. She slipped the ruined glasses into her pocket and started home again when something else caught her eye. At the side of the road, partly hidden by the brush, was a tennis shoe. A worn Adidas, white with blue stripes. Roy had a pair like that.

  Karyn shuddered, despite the hot wind, and turned away. She walked on rapidly toward the house. In a very few hours it would be dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chris Halloran's hopes of getting away early for a weekend of loafing in Ensenada were fading fast. He had planned to hit the border by midmorning, but here it was afternoon and he hadn't left yet. His mistake had been to drop in on one of the clients of his engineering firm to see how a new tool-design concept was working out. There were problems. Nothing serious, but as long as Chris was on the scene he could hardly refuse to have a look. By the time he finished it was two o'clock.

  On the way home he had made one more stop at a drugstore to pick up a few small items for his traveling bag. He waited impatiently in the checkout line while everyone ahead of him, it seemed, had to cash a check written on a Hong Kong bank.

  At last he pulled into the underground parking area of the Surf King Apartments. The image conjured by the name had always amused Chris. Blond young giants in deep tans and cutoffs hanging ten as they hotdogged in with the heavies. Actually, the average age of Surf King tenants was comfortably over thirty, and there weren't half a dozen of them who could stand up on a surfboard. The whole marina scene was beginning to pall on Chris. The same funky-chic people in the same overpriced bars on Friday nights, telling the same lies over the same drinks and looking for… what?