Lunar Rampage (Lunar Rampage Series Book 1)

by Samantha Cross

  “Thanks for coming as quickly as you did,” Deputy Wilson said.

  “I would have been here even quicker, but I wasn’t home. Hopefully, I didn’t keep you waiting.”

  “You’re all right. It’s not a completely urgent matter. Just one I’d rather have settled sooner than later. You understand?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  He brought me into a dusty little room, no bigger than a normal office, with one table pressed against the wall with a chair on each side, dreary half opened windows, and several cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other. I don’t know if he just moved in here or what, but this room seriously lacked any kind of coordination or personal touch. It was just very blank and cold. The only thing it had going for it was the name Wilson glued above the window on his door. I peeked across the hallway at the other rooms and they all seemed decorated at the very least.

  “You’ll have to forgive the mess,” he said and kicked one of the boxes out of my path.

  “Just move in here?”

  “About nine months ago.”

  I chuckled. “People make human beings in that span of time and you can’t unpack a globe from a box?” I teased.

  He sat down in one of the chairs and grinned. “I’m a cop, not a decorator.”

  “Those things are exclusive?”

  “You sound like my wife.”

  “Oh, you’re married?”

  He shrugged slightly and added, “Legally.”

  I curled my lips in regretfully. “Sorry.”

  “Take a seat,” he directed and kicked the chair on the opposite side of him out with his foot. “I want to take notes on everything you saw that night.”

  “Everything?”

  “Absolutely everything. How it walked, how it sounded, if it had a smell. Absolutely everything that you feel is relevant.”

  I joined him at the table. “I guess I’m not sure what exactly is relevant.”

  “How about we find that out together?”

  I nodded and proceeded to tell him my story, everything from leaving Molly’s house to the sudden nature in which it appeared behind me. I was too paralyzed with fear to actually recall any fragrance emanating from it, so I stuck to the physical details, like the long rabbit ears, the thick dark hair, and how it ran toward me with a momentum of an out of control bull.

  “It ran on all fours, correct?”

  “Yes,” I answered, and then crinkled my brow. “What else would it run on?”

  “You said it stood upright at one point. I just wanted clarification.”

  Suddenly, I was second guessing myself. “I mean, I’m pretty sure it was on all fours. I saw it drop down. I’ll admit I didn’t do a lot of looking behind me when I was running, so maybe it was possible.”

  “I wasn’t trying to imply it, I just wanted clarification as I said.”

  “Right. Sorry, I’m not too good with the answering thing. Especially not at a police station. My brain knows I’m not being arrested or anything, but the rest of me is fully aware that I’m sitting in a dark room with a cop being interrogated.”

  He smiled. “Would it make you feel better if you called me Jason?”

  “Probably not, but I could try it, anyway. Jason.” I had gotten so used to calling him Deputy that trying to get his real name out of my mouth actually felt forced and awkward as hell. It felt like calling your teacher or dad by their first name. “So, when did you want me to meet with this artist?”

  “As soon as I have all the answers I need.”

  “Oh, that’s possible? When you get them, please be sure to let me know.”

  He smirked. “I’m a cop. If I can’t find the answers what good am I?”

  “You have a really shiny badge.”

  “Most people are impressed by the uniform and gun.”

  “The uniform I’ll give you, but the gun, not so much.”

  “Not a fan?”

  “Of something that’s sole purpose is to end things? Yeah, not so much.”

  “Just between you and me, I’m not big on guns, either. I’ve made it a mission to use it as a last resort and nothing less.”

  “How many last resorts have you encountered?”

  The deputy sighed deeply, like a very painful memory had rushed through his brain. “Just one,” he said. Funny how the less he said the more impactful it was.

  “So, how is that guy doing?”

  “What guy?”

  “The one that survived the animal attack. You said he was kind of out of it and I was curious if he got any better.”

  Deputy Wilson stared at me like he wasn’t sure what to say. “He’s, uh, hanging in there. Clearly upset, though.”

  “Rightfully so.”

  “What the heck, I’ll get the sketch artist now,” he said abruptly, and then hopped out of his chair. “Be back in a minute.” He sure did leave in a hurry, which gave me the overwhelming sense that he was suddenly trying to get rid of me.

  “I’ll be here,” I said and awkwardly saluted him. Once he was gone, I was free to roll my eyes at myself. I was never going to be suave at the whole hello and goodbye thing.

  His desk was pretty cluttered, so it gave me something to play around with. I balanced a pencil on the tip of my finger for a whopping five seconds (new record, yay), played the drums with it and its twin, and even made a stapler talk using my cookie monster voice. A bored Cora is one of the most juvenile people you’ll ever meet. Not something I’m proud of, just a fact.

  I didn’t even notice a photo frame turned upside down on his desk. Deputy Wilson was in it along with another woman; pretty with curly brown hair. It must have been his soon to be ex-wife and he just never got around to getting rid of the photo. Kind of sad, actually. Made me wonder what exactly went down that they split up. Deputy Wilson was handsome enough, with a good job, and an overall nice demeanor to him. How bad did things have to fall apart for them to call it quits? Then again, I didn’t really know the guy and I surely didn’t know the wife. She could be loony tunes insane for all I know.

  When Deputy Wilson and the artist came back into the room they caught me stapling my hand with the stapler. I fumbled for a minute and said, “Wanted to make sure it worked.”

  Deputy Wilson stifled a laugh. “This is Davis McTurney. He’ll be helping you today.”

  I set the stapler down and stood up to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he responded and I could tell he was lying. Something told me he wasn’t impressed by people who staple their own hands.

  I heard an odd thump come through the wall and Deputy Wilson reacted to it as well. He then smiled and said, “I’ll leave you two,” and then scurried away.

  “Take a seat,” Davis instructed. We both sat down and he pulled out a large pad of sketch paper from a bag.

  “Where should I start?”

  “Wherever you’d like.”

  “Okay, well, it had long hair that was sort of wispy and thin, but there was a lot of it, so in a way it was also thick. Like, I didn’t see any bald spots or patches, just a bunch of hair. Its build was like a large dog, but it had really long ears, almost like the Trix bunny, but not as long.”

  He peered up from his paper. “The Trix bunny?”

  “Yeah, the cereal mascot. Have you not eaten it before?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then, they’re like rabbit ears.” I continued on with all my details, while Davis remained stoic for the most part, other than the brief moments he seemed to almost laugh. I didn’t completely blame him, since it sounded like I was describing a horror movie monster, but he could have done a little better at hiding his disbelief. I thought cops and people involved in law were notorious for showing no emotion. Or maybe that was doctors.

  Davis had to do a lot of drawing with me sitting there quietly, and I kept tilting back and forth between boredom and awkwardness.

  “So, your name is Davis, huh?” I asked.

  Drawing, he said, “Yup.”
>
  “Not a name I hear a lot. Is it like a family thing?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t hear a lot of Coras, either, except for that little girl who died in Titanic. Have you ever seen that movie? I ask because you’re a guy who’s in, what, his forties? If you’d seen it, you’d probably be younger because most of the guys who have seen it were dragged there by the women in their lives, or were horny thirteen-year-olds who wanted to see boobs in a PG-13 movie.”

  He remained quiet, but I could tell I was breaking his concentration.

  “You always been able to draw?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “That’s cool. Not me. I could never get the hands right. As soon as I made them look decent, they were never the right size for the person I had them on. People always ended up looking like raptors.”

  He politely smirked and nodded.

  “Me talking isn’t distracting you, is it?”

  “A little bit, yeah.”

  “Oh, sorry. If you haven’t noticed, long silences make me uncomfortable.”

  He continued to say nothing.

  “It’s easy peasy for you, though, I see,” I said with an awkward laugh.

  “I’m trying to get this done so you can go home.”

  “Right. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Davis was still sketching in the details of my information when I heard all this yelling coming from another room. The wall between us made it sound very muffled, but whoever it was, was screaming loud enough that I could still tell something was going on. Something bad.

  I tried to focus so the artist could continue, but I was so distracted by what was going on, my head kept jerking toward the opened door, thinking I’d see something in the hallway. The voice did feel like it was getting closer. It was definitely a male shouting, and what seemed to be two more voices trying to calmly settle him down to no avail.

  Stay away from me, the male growled. You can’t keep me here. I need to leave.

  There was a loud pop and bang, and I could tell that the door to the room they were in had broken open and slammed into the outside wall, because their voices became clear, loud, and close. I inched my way out of my seat and to the hallway to see the ruckus, and glanced back at Davis to see if he was upset with me for wandering away, but he was out of his seat as well. I could see other cops and workers poking their heads out from their doorways, too. Whatever the fight was, it was progressing down the hallway and toward me.

  All these men came barging into the main area of the police station and started circling around a smaller man, whose brown hair was disheveled and wet, and skin pale and covered in perspiration. He looked like he was going through a heavy flu. He fumbled, tripped, and barely had any strength, but yet managed to push two officers out from in front of him, yelling, “I need air, dammit! I’m burning up!”

  With my head hanging out the doorway, it was nearly knocked off by Deputy Wilson zipping by me and racing to the man. He settled everyone down and said, “Scott, what’s going on?”

  Ah, Scott was the sickly one. From the Samaritan clothing, it was clear he wasn’t employed here. He must have been the survivor of the attack. He swiped the heavy, sweat-soiled strands of hair out of his face and made an almost relaxed face at the presence of the deputy.

  “They won’t let me leave,” he said.

  “Who won’t let you leave?”

  “Them. I just need some air. I feel like I’m melting...”

  “We can open a window, but you have to stay inside. You’re hurt, and from the looks of it, very infected. You need your rest.”

  “I can’t sleep! It’s all this ringing in my ears. It won’t go away,” he cried and covered one ear with his hand.

  “Why don’t you go lie down and we’ll call a doctor?”

  “No!” Scott screamed, as if the deputy’s words were somehow offensive. “I need out of here, now!”

  I knew the guy was sick, but I didn’t understand why he couldn’t get a quick whiff of fresh air. What could it hurt? It certainly helped me when I was under the weather. Then again, this guy seemed super paranoid, so perhaps they were afraid he was going to take off and steal one of their cars.

  “Scott, please trust us, we’re trying to help you.”

  “You’re not trying to help me. You’re...” He twitched and cracked his neck. “You’re trying to keep me prisoner.”

  “This is for your own good.”

  “No, it’s not!” he roared, and out of nowhere he got this surge of strength through his body and sent two police officers flying into the wall, with just his bare hands. They actually took flight. Scott then began screaming at the top of his lungs and dropped to his knees, ripping his shirt apart like Hulk Hogan on acid, until it was just wet strands hanging from his drenched, white body.

  All this spit and thick, white substance came dripping out of his mouth like globs and splattered on the floor. He looked like a dog with rabies, growling and clawing at the floor as his body convulsed. Deputy Wilson’s eyes flashed toward me in the doorway like he regretted ever having invited me. I had to admit, what I was seeing before me made me regret coming as well. Especially when it became obvious that no one knew what they were doing. Scott was spazzing out and retching on the floor, and everybody just stood around like a bunch of kids waiting for the grownups to do something.

  “Somebody get him a wet towel!” Deputy Wilson ordered, and one of the men standing behind Scott’s slumped over body took off. He came back a few seconds with a towel that had been dipped in the sink and threw it onto Scott’s back. I would have thought it’d bring relief, but Scott screamed in horrible agony and flipped his body back so the towel slipped off of him. There was a light mist radiating off of him. It looked almost like smoke. Like he was so hot it burned the towel. What the hell was wrong with this guy that he singed a damn towel?

  It wasn’t until that moment that I noticed this guy’s body was covered in short, dark curls of hair, when mere moments before I swore he was hairless. His pale, sweaty skin had been all I could notice when he tore his clothes off. Yet here he was with all this hair, prominent even, to the point of it growing over his hands and wrists. Within seconds, I couldn’t even see his flesh. This couldn’t be. I stood in disbelief as the hair literally grew before my eyes. What was happening?

  Scott lifted his arms in the air and yelped as his fingers broke and shifted along the rim of his hands. We were all aghast, helpless and only able to watch as this man’s limbs began to move without his consent, snapping and cracking and popping while his cries got deeper and more destitute.

  I felt sick watching this man go through this, and yelled, “Somebody do something!” But nobody could. Whatever was taking hold of this man was inside of him, and no medicine was going to help.

  Suddenly, his cries got higher and higher, to the point of sounding like he had some kind of effect on his voice, like a sharp whistle. It was so ear piercing, several of the cops were wrapping their heads up with their hands to avoid the noise. It didn’t relent, and at one point, his voice reached such a high pitch that the window on Deputy Wilson’s door shattered beside me.

  I was officially losing my mind.

  Scott dropped onto the flats of his palms and pointed his back into the air while his stomach convulsed and pulsated in and out like he was on the verge of throwing up. I saw a hard lump beneath the skin of his back push up, like a ball of bone was coming through, and then his skin cracked apart down the center like an egg and new, harder, hairier, rougher flesh poked through. He was shedding old skin and gaining new like some kind of lizard. This horrible rancid aroma of blood and meat filled the air and one of the cops across the hallway began puking all over the floor. I was too terrified to even physically feel. I was paralyzed.

  Scott looked up at us all with inhuman yellow eyes with black slits down the center. It was a horrific, polarizing stare that felt like he could see right through the soul and tear you apart from the inside. These weren’t the e
yes of a person, but a cold blooded animal on the attack. So familiar to what I had already seen just a few days ago.

  Out of nowhere, Scott leapt off the ground like a frog and onto one of the officers, pinning him down and biting into his neck. I screamed as everyone ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. I dashed back into Deputy Wilson’s office, but the window to the door had already been blown out and if Scott wanted to, all he had to do was reach through to unlock the door and come inside. But I didn’t know where else to go. He was blocking the end of the hallway on top of this guy.

  I heard a loud boom and my ears immediately rang. Deputy Wilson stood a few feet from Scott with his pistol aimed right at his skull. Scott slowly turned toward him, his mouth and face dripping with blood and other chunks from the man’s throat. The man on the ground wasn’t moving, just leaking blood all over the floor. I covered my mouth in repulsion and shock. I had never seen a dead body before.

  “Put your hands up!” Deputy Wilson roared, his finger fastened right on the trigger. I wanted this over, but I didn’t want anyone else to die. I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to be here.

  Scott didn’t put his hands up, but steadily rose onto his two feet, glaring at Jason the whole time and snarling. I didn’t mean to, but I shrieked when I saw his ears. They were no longer human. He had two pointed, tall ears that looked like larger versions of a cat, and they seemed to be growing by the moment.

  “Put your hands up now!” Deputy Wilson screamed again. But Scott didn’t listen. To my horror, he very slowly turned his body around and faced me with what appeared to be a smirk on his face. My heart stopped. Scott’s lips smacked and twisted with two very large fangs hanging over the bottom portion of his mouth. He was looking at me through the hole in the deputy’s window like I was dinner. I thought I was going to faint.

  In a burst, he came charging at the door like a rabid animal, ramming his shoulder into the concrete and reaching his hand in through the broken window. I was screaming my head off like a lunatic, backing up as far as I could, but I eventually ran out of space and fell to the ground. To my left was Davis, curled up in a darkened corner afraid to even look.