“You stink, Landers. You smell as bad as you look.”
“You get away from me you sick fuck!” Cullie’s voice broke and he started pushing up from the water again, desperate to get away from the madman he knew was going to sodomize him.
“Not a chance.” John reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket, pulling hard. Cullie was lifted half out of the water before the ruined material let out a rude noise and fell away from him, dropping him once more into the rapidly swelling run off.
“Oh God! Please!” He was crying again, as John came closer, the knife that Cullie’d been ready to use on him now held casually in his left hand.
Cullie looked over his shoulder in stark terror, ready to do anything this man wanted him to in order to avoid what he knew was coming.
The smile had left John’s face, and the rain that fell was beginning to stick in his hair, to freeze there. He dropped down on his knees behind Cullie and grabbed his good leg, clenching his fingers and digging deep into flesh. Cullie tried to kick with his other leg, but it lacked the strength to stop his attacker.
Without another word, John brought the knife around and in two deft strokes had cut a circle around Cullie’s ankle. Cullie shrieked again and tried to pull away with the strength of his arms, but the blade had done to his good leg what the monster’s teeth had already accomplished on the other side. He lacked the power to escape.
John leaned back for a second; his face a little pale, and shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. You think I want to fuck you. You’re wrong.”
Despite his situation, the panic level lowered itself a bit, and Cullie crawled forward a few paces, solely because John let him.
“If you were the only woman left on the planet and looked like a Playboy Bunny, I still wouldn’t want you that way.” John stood again and came closer, his flesh shivering in the cold.
“You just relax yourself, Cullie Landers. This is gonna’ hurt.” He moved forward again and this time when he grabbed for a limb, it was Cullie’s left arm. Cullie fought, he swung with his free arm and kicked as best he could with both of his legs. John pinned his left hand in the water and ignored the blows, barely even flinching when he was struck in the side of his face.
Then he started cutting, tearing through the tendons in Cullie’s wrist with ease. “Figured you deserve what you did to my girl, Landers.”
He slapped Cullie with a savage backhand that knocked the wind right the hell out of his sails and moved to grab his one unmarred limb before he could recover.
Cullie screamed all the louder as the blade cut skin and tendon again.
John sat back, panting from his efforts, and stared hard at him for a moment.
“Make you one last deal, you sick fuck. If you can get up and walk away when I’m done skinning you alive, I’ll let you alone.”
Cullie kept screaming until he blacked out.
* * *
George heard every sound, every scream that echoed through the woods, and he did his best to ignore them.
He knew that somewhere downstream, Cullie was dying, and he ground his teeth together, wishing he could shut out the sounds.
Cullie had fallen across the waters in the gulley by accident; George found them deliberately, hoping that the frigid stream would mask his scent. He’d seen at least a dozen movies where it worked for prisoners, but never had a reason to test whether or not it really had any affect, at least not until now.
At a guess, he’d made it around half way to where he needed to be. The rain was coming down too hard for him to even consider looking at the map. All he knew was that they’d used a cross to mark whatever the final destination was supposed to be.
He didn’t allow himself to think or strategize; he refused himself the luxury of panic. He simply ran, doing his best to forget everything that had happened back in the woods when he’d let them do what they did to the girl.
Instead he focused his attention on the simple task of moving one foot in front of the other as the cold sapped his energy and the freezing rain fell on his balding head and clothes. It was all he could do if he wanted to survive, and he wanted that desperately.
What had started as rain and moved into freezing rain continued to change, falling slower now, as a mix of hard ice pellets and snowflakes. He kept sloshing through the water, breathing hard and doing his best not to fall on his face in the growing current.
Cheryl would hate him, of course. Even if he lived through all of this, he knew he couldn’t keep her in his life. There was no doubt in his mind that one or more of the monsters would have told her why this was all happening. The one in charge struck him as exactly the sort that would enjoy the theatrics of telling her the gory details.
“No one to blame but yourself, George. Just you remember that.” He spoke to himself, a habit he’d picked up a long time ago, when he decided it was time to get help for his anger issues.
At age fourteen, he started letting himself go, and got into a lot of trouble at school. It was seldom a week went by without him getting into it with someone. By sixteen, he wasn’t just overreacting to situations anymore; he was starting a lot of the fights. By his second semester in college, he decided it was time to do something about his rage. He hadn’t just hurt a kid he decided to fight with – he’d hospitalized him.
When the fight was done he turned himself in to the authorities and faced the consequences of his actions, not because he felt he was in the wrong exactly but because he was afraid of what he might do the next time he lost his temper.
George caught his foot on a loose stone and fell into the water, landing on his ass. Any hope he’d had of keeping his privates warm was immediately destroyed, and the cold that had been gnawing at his flesh sank teeth deep into his bones as he rose from his fallen position.
He thought about heading for the shore, but still liked his chances better down in the water. That decision didn’t make moving in sodden clothes any easier and neither did the chill that refused to leave him.
He’d gone another hundred or so yards when he was first aware of the lights up ahead. Red and blue strobes started splashing the trees and the ravine alike and George stopped for a second, completely shocked by the sudden light.
After a moment he realized there was a bridge up ahead, nothing fancy, but still an unexpected surprise. It didn’t take him long to realize there was a road running through the area, but he couldn’t remember seeing it on the map of the area and he wasn’t about to check at the moment.
The bridge looked like an old concrete piece from the depression era, complete with rusted guardrails, one of which had been ruined. A black shape that strongly resembled the silhouette of a small car’s front end could be seen dangling over the side, along with the mangled railing. It was from behind that particular obstacle that the lights originated.
He was tempted, so damned tempted, to go up and see if he could ask the cop for help, but he knew there was no way in hell the police in the area would believe there were monsters after him and there was Cheryl to consider.
When he stumbled and fell into the water the second time, he decided he’d ask for help anyway. Shivering violently, he scrabbled up the side of the ravine’s incline, clutching at whatever he could to keep from sliding back down. By the time he’d reached the side of the road he’d managed to drive several thorns into his hands and knees, but he didn’t dare stop.
The road was covered in a thickening layer of ice and George understood immediately what had happened. There had been a one-car accident and either by use of cell phone or by blind luck, the police had shown up.
His eyes ached with every pulse of the police car’s lights, and he squinted against the glare as he moved toward the vehicles and the three people standing outside of them. One was a woman dressed in a thin coat and a formal dress. She was shivering in the cold as one of the police officers took down her information. She might have been in the car, but judging by how much of her vehicle had left the road and was
now dangling over the side of the bridge, it was probably wisest to freeze instead of risking a seventy-foot drop to the bottom of the ravine.
There were two cops, both far better dressed for the weather, and both busy with the task at hand. George could have wept at the sight of them.
“Hey… ” His voice sounded too weak for them to hear so he yelled. “Hey! Can I get some help?” He called out as he moved closer and saw all three people turn to face him. The lights kept their faces hidden in shadows, but he imagined they were surprised to see him.
“Where the hell did you come from?” That came from the larger of the two policemen, a six-foot-tall man with a build like an armchair quarterback.
“I was down there.” He pointed down to the ravine.
“What were you doing down there?” the younger officer asked. He looked like he was in better shape.
“I’m being chased, and I need to get away from here.”
“Well, we’re in the middle of an accident investigation, but if you want to wait a few minutes we’ll see what we can do.” The older cop stepped forward enough to let George catch a glimpse of a round face and a thin mustache as he spoke. “We’re a little thin on help right now, there’s been a lot of fender-benders tonight, but if you can be patient, we’ll find out what’s going on.” He sounded friendly enough, but George could tell he was less worried about what might be after him than he was about making sure George wasn’t actually just a mental case traipsing through the woods. George really couldn’t blame him for that, but his sense of urgency hadn’t changed.
Still, he had to try to explain without sounding like he was, in fact, a mental patient and that was going to be tricky. He couldn’t just say a pack of werewolves wanted him dead, after all. Even thinking about the beast he’d seen in the diner was enough to make him want to wet himself. Maybe bears would work as an explanation.
“I’m pretty sure there were bears down there, and they seemed sort of ticked off.”
“Bears? This time of year?” That was the younger cop again. He shook his head and frowned. “They should all be hibernating. What? Did you go looking in a cave and find them?”
“All I know is whatever they are, they’re big and hairy and growl.”
He could see the look of disbelief on the man’s face and he also got to witness that same expression change as he looked behind George and looked up.
George turned just in time to see the monsters coming. All the time he’d thought he was safe had been a mistake. The werewolves came over the side of the bridge one after the other, easily leaping over the railing and landing in the shadows of the road.
There were four of the things all told, massive shadows one second and equally large nightmares the next. Every time the lights from the cruiser hit them their eyes flared with the reflected glow and their bared teeth gleamed in red or blue.
“Mister, those aren’t bears.” The young cop was staring and had reached for his weapon.
The older cop already had his drawn. “Move out of the way!”
He didn’t have to tell George twice. He bolted for the squad car and prayed he’d have no trouble getting there.
The werewolves moved forward, two of them on their hind legs, and two on all fours. They didn’t move fast, but crept at a casual pace, as if deciding what, exactly, they wanted to do about the policemen.
The younger officer finally got his weapon clear of the holster and pointed it at the closest bestial face. The werewolf looked at the business end of the service revolver and bared his teeth even wider as he let out a warning growl.
“You be a good boy and we won’t have to kill you.” The kid was nervous, but his hands were steady.
The werewolf stood still for a moment and then rose up to its full height. The cop kept his grip on the revolver and kept it sited on the powerful chest of the thing now standing fully a foot taller than him.
As for the woman next to her ruined car, she was staring at the animals with wide eyes and a fearful tremble running through her entire body.
The werewolf closest to the younger cop reached out its paw and placed it gently over both of the hands holding the firearm. And then it spoke in a voice that was garbled, but understandable. “I know you, Sam Farber. We want the stranger. Leave this place and we will leave you in peace.”
The younger officer, Sam Farber apparently, stared hard at the monstrous face and shook his head, refusing to believe what he had just heard. While he was doing the unreality shuffle, the werewolf plucked the weapon from his hand and moved past him.
The other cop, older and more experienced, was just as stunned. “Hey, give him back his gun.” He might have been trying to speak with authority, but what came out of his mouth was a nervous whisper.
The woman was staring at the beasts as they walked, and one of them looked at her, returning the gaze. She was dwarfed by the thing, which did nothing but look at her.
It might have all gone differently if the older cop hadn’t finally snapped out of his shock and taken aim at the closest monster. The furry head turned sharply and vulpine lips that had been slowly calming down peeled back from the wicked looking teeth as it snarled.
The cop pulled the trigger on his revolver again and again and George looked on as dark red blossoms of meat and viscera flew from the back of the werewolf.
The monster staggered back, pushed by the force of the bullets ripping through its chest and shoulder, crying out with a sound like locked tires sliding on rough asphalt.
Even as it fell, all of its partners started moving. The one that had been staring at the woman next to her car leaned down almost as if it planned to kiss her and then bit into her face with an audible crunching noise. If she screamed, it was hidden inside the sounds of bones breaking.
One of the beasts that had stayed on all fours, bolted forward, bounding over its fallen brethren, and hit the older cop in the chest with both front claws. The palms of the beast’s hands pushed hard and the talons at the end of each finger sank in deeply, past the coat and the uniform below and into skin and meat. Even as the officer fell back, the thick nails of the creature pulled away and took a few pounds of flesh.
The werewolf that had taken away the younger cop’s revolver turned fast and sank its teeth into the young man’s shoulder and neck, savagely shaking back and forth as it worried the new wound. The rookie screamed, a lot.
George took one quick look at the squad car and opened the driver’s side door. The engine was running, the keys were in place and the werewolves were busy. Three seconds later, he was inside and revving the engine.
The wounded werewolf stood back up and let loose a growl that shook its entire body. The one on the older policeman stepped forward and dropped down on top of the bloodied man and began tearing into him, shredding clothing and flesh with powerful hands before sinking teeth deep into the wound and ripping away at what looked like part of a heart and a lung. The officer’s chest had bloomed like a bizarre flower that steamed in the cold night air.
The young cop was still screaming, bucking and trying to get away from the snarling giant that tore the wound in his shoulder into a lethal hole.
The woman was dead; her body sliding down as the werewolf pulled away from her, chewing at whatever prize it had pulled from her face.
George shifted into drive then hit the gas. The squad car jumped forward, slamming into the furry shape that loomed over the older cop and then driving over the dead man and the snarling nightmare alike. The tires spun against the cold, icy road and caught extra traction as they ran over both forms.
He wasn’t thinking at all, really, just doing his best to get away from the madness. The gun-wounded werewolf didn’t seem to see it that way. It lifted its good arm and brought it down with a hammer blow that caved in the front of the squad car’s hood and rocked the vehicle on its shock absorbers. The car decided at that moment that stalling would be a good idea.
George couldn’t have agreed less.
The
beast roared again and rather than climbing on top of the car, stepped around to the side to get at George. It reached for the window and plowed through the glass with surprisingly little effort. Fragments of the broken window exploded into the interior and showered George, who was doing his very best to get out through the passenger’s side door at the same time.
He had just managed to open the door when the thing’s claws hooked into his foot and ankle. George yelped and kicked, trying to get free, trying to stop the pain that went running from his lower leg, when the door near his head was ripped completely away from the hinges.
There were snarling faces above him and below and George decided enough was enough. He cocked back his mauled foot and then drove the heel of his boot into the snout that was snapping at him. Something in the monster’s nose crunched and the beast pulled back, shaking its head violently from side to side.
The one near his head was reaching in to grab him and George returned the favor; even as the long, deadly fingers of the werewolf were grabbing at his clothes, the beast got close enough for him to drive his thumb into the left eye of the thing.
It tried to pull back, but George used his other hand to grab into the thick ruff of fur near its neck and forced his thumb deeper into the soft tissue, snarling himself.
He was as good as dead, so he decided to at least leave them knowing they’d been in a fight.
As the werewolf jumped back, George followed; his face in that moment was almost as feral as the ones on the wild things near him. The werewolf snarled and came for him, one eye closed against the furious tearing and, yes, the blood that was flowing from it. George drove his fist into its throat as hard as he could and was delighted to hear it let out a choking cough. He liked the effect so much, he did it again while the giant thing was hacking and trying to catch a decent breath.
SNAFU: Wolves at the Door: An Anthology of Military Horror Page 22
