Mad Cow

by J. A. Sutherland

  “How do you know?” James asked.

  “Because they’re, like, dogs, right? We get on a real road and floor it, dogs can’t run that fast.”

  James heard a growing rumble and checked the mirrors to find a single headlight close behind them. It accelerated quickly and drew up alongside the truck. His blood chilled at the sight of the figure riding it.

  “Dogs can’t drive motorcycles either!” he yelled.

  The half-man, half-wolf on the motorcycle drew closer. James could see it was gathering itself to leap into the truck’s bed.

  “Do something!” Frank yelled.

  “You’re magic guy!” James screamed. “You do something!”

  “I’ve got nothing left, man. I can only do, like, memory and little tricks anyway!”

  James screamed again in frustration. He jerked the steering wheel away from the motorcycle, almost driving into the brush on the other side of the road. The motorcycle followed, bouncing over ruts, but the creature maintained control and prepared to leap into the truck again.

  He flung the wheel the other way, hitting the bike and driving it into the brush on the other side of the road. The creature grabbed the side of the truck bed, hanging on as the motorcycle was lost behind, bushes and branches whipping along the side of the truck to strike it.

  James kept the truck there until there was a screech of tortured metal as he ran the truck along large tree. The fender crumpled, the side mirror was swept away, and the creature disappeared with a wet, meaty thwunk.

  Moments later they were on a smooth, paved road and he discovered just how fast a pickup truck could go.

  James brought the truck to a shuddering stop in front of Frank’s house. The big, two-story structure sat on six acres of heavy forest, isolated from neighbors and the nearest road.

  He sat, hands on the wheel for a long moment, feeling the adrenaline rush he’d been on all night start to subside.

  “We’re good,” Frank said, from the back seat. “We’re good, man.”

  James turned the truck off, left the key in the ignition, then jerked open the door and stormed out. He took several steps away from the truck and looked up at the night sky, wondering if he’d ever be able to see the moon without pissing himself again – wondering if he’d ever be able to look at Frank without wanting to wring the bastard’s neck.

  “This is not good, Frank — it’s nowhere even close to good. What if those … those things find us?”

  “How’re they going to do that?”

  “Dude, they saw us, saw the truck … maybe they took the tag number —”

  Frank hopped out of the truck.

  “These are not rocket scientists we’re dealing here, man.”

  “No!” James yelled. He really wanted to punch Frank. Just punch him in the damn nose for getting him involved in this at all. Then kick him in the balls for being so blasé about, for hell’s sake, werewolves! “No, they’re not rocket scientists! They’re werewolves! Biker, drug-dealer, for real damned, werewolves! And we tried to rip them off!”

  Frank laughed.

  “Do you not think they might be pissed off about that?” James demanded.

  Frank laughed louder.

  “They’re yahoos — yeah, werewolves, but still yahoos. They probably don’t even remember what we look like, much less the —”

  Frank broke off and frowned.

  Then James heard it too … the sound of motorcycles.

  Frank shook his head. “Nah …”

  Headlights flashed in through the trees back along Frank’s long driveway and the night air was split by a long, rolling howl.

  “Or they could have followed us,” James said.

  “Come on!”

  Frank led the way into his house, then down to the basement. The sound of engines and howls grew louder and louder behind them, followed by crashing glass and rending wood. James slammed the door to the basement stairs, muting some of the sound, but he didn’t think it would do much good other than that.

  I’m going to die — they’re going to eat me!

  He followed Frank across the basement to a larger, steel door set into a brick wall. This was the room in which Frank had first shown James his magic. His grandfather’s trove of magic and sorcery, discovered by Frank when the old man died and left it all to him.

  “In! In! In!” Frank yelled.

  James dashed inside and Frank slammed the heavy door, pulling the multiple bolts. The room had no other doors or windows, and its walls were lined with shelves. Dusty books, weird jars and bottles, rolls of what James always thought were parchments but was afraid to look at without Frank’s permission.

  The clang of the door still echoed, but Frank laid his palms on the door and started mumbling. Odd sounds that seemed to roll past James’ ear without fully settling.

  Frank pulled his hands away, shouting one more nonsense syllable, and the door suddenly blazed with light — bright, green lines of glowing light crisscrossed the door.

  “Wards,” Frank said, stepping back with a smile. “No damned way they get through that, man!”

  “Are you sure? Your little memory trick with the flour didn’t do so hot, dude.”

  Frank scowled at him.

  “That’s different — that was geared toward humans.” He waved at the door. “This is meant to stop anything.”

  Thud.

  Something impacted the door and, with it, one of the glowing lines exploded in a shower of sparks and disappeared.

  The shower of sparks faded. There was silence for moment, then another thud and the door shook again. A second glowing line flared, then erupted in new sparks arcing throughout the room.

  “Aw, man,” Frank said.

  James stared at him and shook his head.

  “Dude … you have seriously under-informed me about this crap all night. Stop it.”

  Another thud. Another shower of sparks. Another fading line.

  “Dude, you said the ward-thingy would keep them out. You said it zaps them, right?”

  Frank took a deep breath.

  “Well —”

  “Dude — I want the truth or I swear to god I’m gonna eat you myself.”

  Frank gave him a pained look.

  “It’s not an exact science,” he said.

  “You sucked at science! What. Is. Going. On?”

  Thud.

  James covered his head as two of the glowing lines exploded in sparks. The fiery motes struck him — they didn’t sting and weren’t hot, but they did tingle a bit.

  “I think the werewolves have enough inherent magic to overcome the wards.”

  “‘Overcome’ is bad, right?”

  Frank nodded.

  “I am so not your friend anymore, dude.”

  Frank turned and began rummaging on the shelves.

  “Do you have guns in here?” James asked. “Silver bullets and crap like that?”

  “Do you have any idea how much silver costs these days?” Frank asked. “Everybody’s hording it because they think the president’s going to tank the economy.”

  Thud.

  James brushed glowing motes off his shoulders and out of his hair.

  “Well, I’m so glad you invested more wisely.”

  Frank continued to rummage on the shelves.

  “You’ve got something there that will, like, blast them, right?”

  “I didn’t really study the offensive stuff,” Frank muttered. “It’s hard. I figured the memory charms were all we’d need.”

  James shook his head. “You are such a —”

  “Got it!”

  Frank pulled two bundles of cloth from the shelf. No, James saw that they weren’t cloth, they were thicker and hairy, like fur.

  “Look,” Frank said, “I don’t have anything in here that will stop three werewolves. All I have are little tricks and crap like that. But maybe these will give us a shot.”

  James closed his eyes. “A shot?”

  “This is all I can th
ink of, alright?”

  “This is so not alright. This whole night is not alright.” James sighed. “What is it?”

  “We can’t stand up to them as we are — but maybe if we’re tougher, as tough as them, we can. I mean there’s only two of us, but it’s a chance, right?”

  James glared at him. “What is it?”

  “I read in my grandfather’s books about this thing called skinwalkers, see? It’s sort of like the shifters, but not exactly. It’s where a sorcerer takes the skin of an animal and puts power into it, then he can wear it and shift himself. He can become that animal until he takes the skin off again.”

  “That’s what those are?”

  Frank nodded.

  “Dude, PETA would be so pissed at you right now — that’s like a fur coat and cultural appropriation all at once.”

  Thud.

  James glanced at the door once the sparks cleared and saw that there were now only a dozen or so lines crisscrossing it.

  “So you figure we become bad-ass wolves ourselves and fight our way out?” He shrugged. “You really got nothing better than that?”

  Frank frowned.

  “Well, I’ve got one wolf and then this one.” He held it out to James. “It’s older. More powerful. A lot more powerful, really — it kind of scares me a little.” He looked away. “I figured you could have it … maybe give you the better chance of getting out of this. It’s kind of my fault you’re in it, I guess.”

  “‘Kind of’?” James grabbed the offered bundle before Frank could change his mind. He even took a step back before examining it. “What is it, a bear or something?”

  It did feel old — and sort of tingled in the way the sparks from the door wards did when they struck him. The fur was shorter than he expected, and coarser. Not nearly as soft as that on the bundle Frank was shaking out and holding to his side. But as he unwrapped it he found that it was also bigger than Franks — much bigger. The pelt was also thicker — not the fur, but the skin. Thick and a little stiff, with dark fur. It was almost like …

  James stared at Frank as the shape of the skin struck him.

  “Dude! Three werewolves are coming in here and you want me to be a freaking cow?”

  “It’s a powerful skin, man.”

  “It’s a cow!”

  “It’s, like, thousands of years old or something, I think. These things gain power the older they are — they draw it from all the animals of that type that have ever existed, and there’re a lot fewer wolves today than there were —”

  “It’s a cow! There are wolves outside that door — and this is a cow!”

  “There are, like, a lot of cows today, man.”

  “Yeah, and they get eaten all the time! Jesus! I mean, dude, McDonald’s alone must —”

  Frank pointed at the skin James held.

  “That is, like, super-cow, man. It’s mega-cow. It’s … it’s freaking meta-cow, by now.”

  “So it’s what? The cow-of-cows, then? What the hell does that even mean?” James reached for the skin in Frank’s hands. “Give me the wolf!”

  “No!” Frank clutched the wolf skin to his chest and turned away. “Be the cow!”

  “I don’t want to be the cow!”

  Thud.

  Two more ward lines exploded in sparks.

  Frank and James stared at the door in silence for a moment.

  “We don’t have much time,” Frank said. “Just trust me, alright?” He pointed at the hide James held again. “That is the most powerful thing my grandfather left behind. I swear it.”

  Thud.

  James clenched his teeth.

  “How does the cow work?”

  “So remember,” Frank said, “it’s not the actual hide that determines your final shape, it’s your own willpower. So you have to think of the biggest, baddest-ass, most freaking killer cow you can, okay?”

  James stared at him.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious, man.” He pointed at the hide. “That has every bit of cow-power there could possibly be in it. Think about it — there were these bad-ass cows called aurochs or something like that. They were, like, I don’t know, eight-feet tall with six-foot horns and maybe, hell, fangs and stuff, okay? Think about that.”

  James stared at him.

  “Bullshit.”

  Frank sighed.

  Thud.

  Only three ward lines crossed the door now, and the door itself was shuddering with each new blow.

  “Just concentrate, okay, man?” Frank’s eyes were wide and he shook out his own hide in preparation. “Throw that over yourself and when you feel the power, try to guide it. Picture a bad-ass cow that can take down three werewolves and let the power make that happen. Trust me.”

  James stared at him.

  “I am never going to trust you again. Ever.”

  “Fair enough,” Frank said. “But you’d better get started. Oh, and —” He paused. “Well, just try to remember who you are, okay? Don’t, you know, really become a cow.”

  “What the actual … dude, you just told me to become the bad-ass cow!”

  “But not, like, become the cow, you know? You gotta be you — not give in to it completely, okay? That’d be bad, I think.”

  James sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

  Thud.

  The sparks from the shattered ward line were so bright he could see their traces through his eyelids.

  James crouched down and grasped the cowhide, swung it over his shoulders and head, covering himself completely, and waited.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Then he felt a tingle. A tingle that grew. All over his body, like he’d touched not just his tongue, but his entire body to a giant nine-volt battery. Then twelve-volt. Then twenty-four volts. Then that freaking big-pronged socket behind the clothes dryer.

  His muscles twitched. His jaw clenched. Something seemed to press in on him from all sides, harder and harder until he couldn’t breathe and he thought he’d suffocate.

  Cow, he thought, trying to keep the picture of what Frank had described in his head. Bad-ass cow.

  Eight-feet tall. Giant horns. Bad-ass, werewolf-killing cow.

  COW!

  Then his bones broke and he screamed.

  His insides twisted and he screamed more.

  Bones ground, flesh twisted and tore, and James screamed so loud he thought his throat would explode and his ears with it.

  cow?

  He thought it must have taken minutes, hours maybe. Too long and what he’d felt was really the werewolves getting through the door and eating him — nothing else could hurt that much.

  James opened his eyes.

  He saw the door still shut, so he must not be dead. There were two glowing bands of the wards still crossing it, but the colors were muted, mostly black and white, in fact.

  Am I dead?

  He looked around the room, caught sight of Frank who was also mostly shades of grey.

  Ah, man, the afterlife’s in black and white?

  No … no, there was some color. Mostly yellows and blues, still muted, and he couldn’t really see anything he thought might have been red before, or even anything too bright. Just dim shades of yellow and blue.

  The afterlife’s a sad Chargers tailgate?

  “You okay, man?”

  James turned his head. Frank was looking at him with concern, but he was looking him in the eye, so he must not be dead. Maybe this was how cows saw the world.

  “Try to get up.”

  James did as Frank said, struggling to his hands and knees, then tried to stand — but his body wouldn’t bend that way. He looked down at his hands.

  Hooves. Oh …

  “Easy!” Frank yelled. “Take it easy, let yourself get used to it. I think you might feel things different — your senses are going to be … well, cowish. I don’t know what that is, but let yourself get used to it. And your body too.”

  James shook his head. He did feel differe
nt. Bulky. Solid. He flexed his shoulders and felt some serious power there. Something seemed to be caught in his throat, though. He jerked his head twice, wanting to cough or something and his mouth was suddenly filled with something. It tasted and smelled like … grass. But not the cool, fresh scent of new-mown grass … no, this was like that clump of grass the mower left at the edge of the lawn in the shade where it never quite dried out from the rain and then you mowed over it the next week and …

  James opened his mouth and tried to spit it out, but he couldn’t make his mouth spit — could only move his tongue around enough to force the thick wad out onto the floor.

  “Nasty!” Frank said. “And, seriously, man, I said bad-ass … you look like the ice cream cow.” He frowned. “You’ve even got … oh, man, I’m sorry.”

  James turned his head to look at himself. Sure enough … he was a cow. And not the bad-ass cow Frank suggested. No, his pelt wasn’t even the dark color of the original skin. It was mostly white, with large black blobs. He couldn’t see his own head, but what he could see was the spitting image of the cow on the ice cream cartons. Including …

  Really? Not even a bull? Really?

  Frank was shaking his head.

  “Well, it’ll have to do, I guess.” He shook out his own skin. “I have to —”

  Thud!

  “Crap … one line left. They’ll be in soon.”

  The reality — reality, that was a laugh — of their situation struck James. He was stuck in a little room, with one door, three pissed-off werewolves about to break in, and he was stuck in the shape of the ice cream cow, complete with udders. This was not a good situation to be in. His stomach churned with fear, anxiety built … wait, something else was churning too … and another … and …

  A loud trumpeting sound echoed through the tiny space.

  “Oh, god!” Frank edged up against the shelves, he covered his mouth and nose with one hand. “That’s ranker than the other end, man!”

  James tried to tell Frank exactly what he could do with what had come out both ends, but the only sound he could make was a lowing moo.