by Terry Yates
“And what if I don’t turn into one of those things?” she asked him.
“Then, they’ll let you out in the morning.”
“And then what…put me back in tomorrow night? And what happens if I don’t change tomorrow night…put me back in the next night. And what happens if I never change, and we never get off this island? Am I going to have to be chained up in a meat locker forever?”
“Nah, probably only when the moon is full,” he answered nonchalantly.
He looked at his watch before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the camera.
“Why do you have that camera?” Samantha asked him suspiciously, her abnormally large brown eyes glaring at him.
“In case you turn into a werewolf, I wanna get a picture,” he answered, twirling the cheap, plastic camera end over end in his hands.
“You what?!” she screamed.
“If you change into a werewolf, I wanna get a picture.”
“You wanna get a…”
“Don’t ya’ see?” he asked getting off the table. “We can make a fortune, Baby. We’ll take the first pictures ever taken of a real werewolf. We’ll even have pictures of you while you’re changing. And look…”
Gringo pushed the button on the back of the camera, and then put it in front of Samantha’s face. It was the picture he had taken of her bending down next to the burn victim just before it bit her.
“Gotta few more pictures of you with him as he was changing. We’ll put both sets of pictures together and make at least…at least…two million dollars from them before it’s all said and done. We’ll be on the news all over the world. I’ll probably go on Letterman…and now the top ten list of things you don’t say to a werewolf! I’ve already thought of a great number one answer. Pardon me, Lady, is that real fur? What do ya’ think? I know it ain’t great, but its as good a one as his writers could come up with. I came up with “Eat me!” first, but I thought it was a little much.
“You bastard!” Samantha yelled, once again rocking the chair back and forth.
Gringo gave her the same “it’ll do you no good” look that he would give a tantrum-throwing child. Seeing this, Samantha tried to calm herself again.
“Come on, Baby. I’m cold,” she said trying to sound pitiful again.
“Ah, it’ll thaw out in here soon,” he told her. “Besides, if you turn into a werewolf, you’ll be covered with fur.”
Samantha was now gritting her teeth and grunting and flexing every muscle in attempt to break the chains, but they were holding fast. Gringo was happy just to let her wear herself out. He wasn’t worried. She would see things his way before it was all over. They’d be millionaires…and when they made all of the money that they could make, they’d use some of the money to cure her. In this day in age, they could fix pretty much anything.
Gringo walked over and stood over Samantha. She smiled up at him thinking that maybe he had changed her mind and was going to let her go. He bent down on his knees in front of her, his face no more than six inches from hers.
“That’s it, Baby,” she cooed softly as he moved his hands toward the chains that crisscrossed across her chest like a bandoleer. “Baby’s gonna get something special right now.”
She giggled as his hands moved up to her neck.
“Maybe later,” he said smiling.
He then grabbed the neck of the t-shirt and pulled with all of his strength. The shirt began to rip down the front.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Getting the money shot, Baby,” he answered, continuing to tear the t-shirt.
He pulled and tore at the shirt till the chain stopped the progression, whereby he would put his fingers under the chain and then pull the fabric from beneath the chain.
“Stop it!” she yelled at him. “Stop it!”
She tried to bite him, but he was too quick for her. He would dodge, weave, and bob his head as she snapped at him, her teeth clicking loudly with each miss. After a few more pulls and tugs, the shirt gave way, and he was able to completely tear the short down the front, once again exposing her breasts. They looked even larger and rounder than usual with the chains crisscrossing them.
“There,” he said, standing up. “Perfect.”
“You sorry piece of shit!” he yelled trying to get loose again.
“Sit still, will ya’?” he told her as he looked through the viewfinder, trying to line up the perfect shot.
“I’m gonna kill you!” she hissed at him, her eyes becoming increasingly larger. “I’m gonna kill you!”
“No, you aren’t, Baby,” he replied softly. “You wouldn’t kill your little Gringo Dingo now, would ya’?”
She continued to struggle and curse at him while he continued lining up the money shot.
“Boy, wouldn’t it be great if we had a video camera,” he said.
Michael Blum watched as Pvt. Hawkins and Sgt. Cohen stared at each other. They had absolutely no idea how to secure the bivouac room. They couldn’t stack anything against the door unless they were going to stay inside, which they were sure they wouldn’t be doing. Potts was going to have them standing watch somewhere tonight. That was the one constant that they were sure about.
“The only thing I can see to do, is to lock the door behind us,” Hawkins said.
“There’s not much else we can,” Sgt. Cohen responded, looking at his watch. “We’ve got to get back to the colonel soon.”
Cohen looked around the room. Where was everyone? Only Michael Blum and Sylvia Morrison were in the large room. Everyone else was gone. He walked over to Michael Bum who was sitting in a chair with his leg propped up once again.
“How’s the leg, Son?” Cohen asked.
“It’ll be all right,” Michael answered. “What are you doing, Sgt. Cohen?”
“We’re trying to secure this room…uh…make it safe in case the thing gets in the building tonight.” Or if it’s already in the building, he said to himself, thinking of Samantha Gould. “Where is everybody? Any ideas?” he asked.
“Mr. Boots went to take a shower, Dr. Kyler went to get Shelly a glass of water, but then she left with her baby, and I haven’t seen Zack since we were in the arcade room,” he answered.
Cohen took his helmet off, and wiped his brow.
“Look, Son,” he started. “Pvt. Hawkins and I are going to take everything that’s not nailed down and stack it close to the door. When the others get back, tell them to close the door and have them stack everything in the pile up against it, okay?”
Michael nodded his head.
“Good,” Cohen told the boy. He paused for a moment. Michael could tell that something wasn’t sitting right with the man, but he didn’t push it, he just continued to look up at the old soldier, who now seemed older than he had three days ago.
The sergeant rubbed his chin for a moment, before returning the MP helmet to his head. Then he reached down and unsnapped his holster. He took the pistol out and laid it in the palm of his hand. He stared at it for a moment, before moving his hand toward Michael’s face.
“Do you think you can use one of these?” he asked.
Michael stared down at the gun. Even without a hand gripped around the handle or an index finger in front of the trigger, the gun looked lethal to Michael. The gravity of the situation had suddenly hit him. Here was a grown man…and not a young man…more of a grandfatherly type handing him a gun, and not for target practice, but for killing.
“This is the safety,” he told the boy, taking the gun by the handle and showing Michael a small, black lever that he might not have noticed unless someone had showed it to him. “Flip it this way,” he said, flipping a switch, “It’s on “safety”…flip it this way, and she’s ready to go. Understand?”
Michael nodded his head as Sgt. Cohen gently handed him the gun, which he received with both hands out. He had not expected it to be so heavy and the metal so cold.
“It might not be a bad idea to let Zack Olsen have it when he comes
back. That thing’s got a bit of a kick to it, and he’s not only older and bigger, but he’ll be more mobile. Now, when Mr. Boots or Dr. Kyler come back, I want you to give it to them, okay?”
Michael nodded.
“Your word on it, Son,” he said, his hand held out.
Michael carefully placed the pistol in his lap, then reached up and took the sergeant’s hand. Cohen grasped it firmly, and shook.
Cohen looked at his watch, and let out a long sigh. It was almost eight-thirty and they needed to get back to Potts. Hawkins had been stacking the cots and chairs next to the door. Cohen felt helpless. If that thing could climb walls and beat down doors and take bullet after bullet into its body, a few cots, chairs, and one pistol with eight shots wasn’t going to do much. It would be like a house of cards trying to hold back an enraged gorilla. The best they could hope for was that the werewolf would not make it onto this floor. Opal Munn had been on this floor when she had turned into the beast, so the odds were dead on that she would find the room, but if they could keep the thing at bay outside, or if it couldn’t use the elevator or find the stairs, then they were in good shape…otherwise, these people were holed up in their own little version of the Alamo.
“That’s it,” Hawkins told him, placing the last chair up against the wall next to the door.
Cohen took one last look around the room. It looked huge with most of the furniture cleared away. He turned to Michael Blum who was now looking extremely pale. The gun still lay in both hands, which were in his lap.
“Remember,” Cohen said, smiling. “As soon as everyone gets back…”
“I know,” Michael interrupted. “Stack everything against the door and give the gun to Zack, Mr. Boots, or Dr. Kyler.”
Cohen smiled. “Right.”
He then turned to Hawkins who wasn’t feeling any better about leaving the civilians in such a helpless situation.
“It’s dark already, Private,” he said, putting his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Old Iron Ass’ll be having a shit fest by now.”
Hawkins somberly nodded his head. The two men left the room. Michael looked at Sylvia Morrison. He was so frightened at that moment that the pain in his leg completely disappeared.
“There,” Ariella said, placing a cap on a bullet. “That’s the last of the mercury.”
She rubbed her cramped hands together as did both Locklear and Zora, who had been loading clip after clip with the mercury bullets.
Zora reached behind her back and took out two pistols, one of which she laid onto the table.
“Where’d you get those?” Locklear asked her as she put a clip into the pistol, and then set aside before picking up the second one.
The soldiers left them here or forgot them,” she lied as she began to load the other pistol.
Both Locklear and Ariella eyed her suspiciously. They had been around Col. Potts long enough now to know that the man forgets very few things, especially where weapons are concerned, but they weren’t going to push it. If the lady wanted to keep a gun, that was fine.
“Well, I’d better take these up to the Colonel,” Locklear said, collecting the clips and putting them into his lab coat pockets. As he reached for the last two clips, Zora put her hand over his.
“I’ll keep these,” she told him, looking him straight in the eye.
Locklear looked over to Ariella, who seemed as confused as he was.
“Where is the colonel?” Ariella asked, trying to defuse an awkward moment.
“He’s up in the foyer, and it’s after eight-thirty. He’s probably having a conniption right about now,” Locklear answered. He then took Ariella by the shoulders. “I want you to take Lauren and Joe and go back down to the sleeping quarters.”
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Ariella asked.
“I’ll meet you down there as soon as I take these bullets to the colonel,” he told her. Besides, I’ve got the only cardkey, and I need to get it to him.”
Ariella nodded. Zora looked away as Locklear awkwardly kissed his wife. He turned and looked under his desk at the sleeping Lauren, her arm draped around Joe.
“Take care of her, Joe,” he said softly. “Well…” he sighed, “I better get up there.”
“I’ll go with you,” Zora said, putting the two pistols in the back of her pants.
Locklear nodded.
“See you in about thirty or so,” he said to Ariella.
With this, Locklear and Zora left the room. Ariella walked over to the desk, got on her knees and gently shook Lauren, who slowly opened her eyes after hearing a low growl from the still sleeping dog.
“Come on, Lauren,” Ariella said softly.
“What is it?” Lauren asked.
“We’ve got to go and join the others,” she answered. “Wake Joe up and let’s get down to the sleeping quarters, okay?”
Lauren nodded and shook Joe who growled one more time in his sleep before finally opening his eyes and realizing that he was under the desk and with his new best pal instead of running in a field with werewolves nipping at his tail.
Nicholas Klefka stood on the debris littered beach and watched the sun as it began to disappear over the horizon and into the ocean. The sunlight was reflecting off of the jet and hitting him right between the eyes almost blinding him. He looked down at his hands. The knife wounds had completely healed leaving only a small red circle on each hand. He carefully stepped into the ocean, careful not to step on anything jagged. Sure, a cut would heal, but it would still hurt like hell. He looked down into the water, which was eerily calm. There was no tide, no ripples…nothing. Strange. He looked down at his reflection in the water and saw that the split in his head had grown back leaving only a red line from the bridge of his nose, disappearing into his hairline. He watched as the reflection of his hand ran along the line.
Klefka looked back out across the ocean. He knew that there would be another full moon tonight. His animal instincts and the tingling in his blood told him that, yes there would be another one. How could that be, he wondered. It made no sense. Too many full moons in a row would physically alter things, but there it was. Things were changing. Mother Nature seemed to be having one big shit fit lately and there didn’t seem to be anything that he could do about it, but ride it out like he always did. As much as he wanted to walk straight into the ocean and end it all, he knew that he couldn’t. For one thing, it might not work, and the other was that the animal in him wouldn’t let him. Just as soon as he walked into the water and put his head under, he would pop out again, gasping for breath. Maybe if he swam out far enough, a shark might eat him, but even then, he didn’t know if that was a possibility. Who knew? Maybe he would become undigested when the moon was full and all of his body parts would reassemble themselves. He doubted it. He was pretty sure that being eaten by a shark would kill him, but there again, being eaten by a shark would be quite painful and he knew that he couldn’t do it. He would simply swim out a little ways and then turn around and come back.
The sun was almost completely down now. Only a small arc remained over the top of the horizon. Normally, he would have found the red sunset beautiful, but right then, it was merely a harbinger of doom. He would turn again tonight and at the rate things were going, he would turn again tomorrow night and the next night, and every night after that until eventually, he would probably kill everyone on the island.
Hundreds…who knew…thousands of people had died at his hands…men, women, and children. He had come to terms with the guilt over the past few years because he hadn’t turned in so long. But now, here he was, about to turn for the fifth straight night. If there was one truism in his life, it was that eventually the beast inside him would find a way into that building and kill everyone. It would happen the same a way a dog will look for a way under the fence. If there is one it’ll find it.
He turned and walked out of the water. He looked around at what had probably been a beautiful island once, but now the refuse of the previous carnage was strewn abo
ut the place, barely leaving it recognizable. Nicholas Klefka was tired. Tired of being a vicious killer. Tired of living way too long. Tired of everything. He didn’t want to kill these people, but he knew that he would. He would wake up tomorrow or the next day, or the day after that, and find himself inside that building with blood, bone, and entrails lying all over or around him. There were three kids, a baby, and six women who would die at his hands. The seventh woman, the old lady, had turned and been killed by the group, but his guess was that it was the dog that had done most of the damage. His three dog wounds were just now beginning to heal after three days. The doctor seemed to have noticed this on both of his visits.
He knew that the doctor had given him up to that Col. Potts when he’d seen the soldiers return for the second time that day and begin to fervently search for him, guns drawn, and almost in a state of panic. The doctor had either slipped up or felt he had no choice in his decision to tell them about him. He’d watched them from the high grass as they’d searched and searched the area till it finally became dusk and they had to get back to the building. He’d also watched as the colonel cursed everything and everyone from God to Elvis Presley.
As the sun disappeared into the ocean, Klefka stood on the beach, not sure where to go. He would eventually end up in front of the building after he turned, so there was no real need to go anywhere. He sat down like he had every night and crossed his legs. Maybe they would get him tonight. He halfway hoped that the tenacious little colonel would end it all and he could finally be at peace, but no one had been able to do it for five centuries, so he doubted it. All he could hope for was that he ended up outside the building somewhere with his usual wounds and his empty stomach.
As it began to grow darker, he looked up into the sky and saw it. The moon. It wasn’t quite full yet, but it would be in just a little while, and then it would start all over again. Nicholas Klefka dropped his head and began to weep.
Shelly had done it. She had sent the doctor on a fool’s errand and was now nearing the last hallway before the dead end where the secret staircase was hidden. Kayla remained sound asleep as she quietly moved down the corridor. She had gotten nervous as she passed the locker room. As she stealthily passed the open doorway, she had seen the doctor sitting on a bench, leaning down to pick something up off the floor. She had moved quickly to the end of that hallway thinking that maybe he’d seen her. When she rounded the hallway corner, she stopped for a moment, waiting for any sign that he might be following her. Shelly already had a plan in case he did see her. She would feign being lost again, but this time she would not argue or scream or get put in a sleeper hold. She would just follow him back to the sleeping quarters and wait for another chance. The sleeper hold that that bitch put her in kept her out for a half hour or longer.
