by Terry Yates
Potts actually chuckled at FranAnne’s remark. Would the army do anything other than hush everything up if they did make it out alive? He could just picture the report that he’d have to write. How would he start it? “Well, there was this werewolf, you see…”
“Colonel?” FranAnne asked.
“Yes?”
“If I’m such a good shot, how come you put Hawkins on the roof instead of me?”
“If that thing gets inside the building, I want him to get down here as fast as he can. Have you seen how Hawkins is built?” he asked her, unconsciously feeling his grenade vest.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you know that he’s built for speed. Did you know that he was an All-American sprinter at Kansas St.?”
“No, sir.”
“Yep. He was an alternate in the Olympic sprint relay.”
“Did he tell you all of this?”
“Didn’t have to. I know most everything about everyone under my command. That’s how I knew that you were a better than average shot. You might think, Private, that all I do is sit around and bark orders all day long, but there’s a lot more to being in charge than you can imagine. How would you like ordering a company to advance on the enemy knowing that they don’t have a chance in hell of getting out alive?”
“I never really thought about it, Sir.”
“Very few do take the time to think about it, “ he told her. “Hey, O’Hearley!” he yelled over his shoulder. “How are the new cartridges coming along?”
“Fine,” Locklear answered, putting the cap on a bullet.
Since they had time to kill, and to give him something to do, Potts had given Locklear three pistol clips and had him take the cartridges apart and dump the dried saliva and mercury out into one big pile. The dried dog saliva was white and the mercury was silver, and both could be seen clearly in the pile. Locklear was to scrape as much of the white and silver as he could out of the cartridges and load them into two clip’s worth of bullets, thereby strengthening the potency. With this logic in mind, one clip would be more deadly than two.
“Here you go,” Locklear said, handing the clip down to Potts who reached up behind him and took the clip, never taking his eyes off of the gap. “What now?”
“Now put the other cartridges back together,” he answered. “There’s still good gunpowder in them.”
Locklear sighed and walked away. FranAnne could see Potts smiling out of the corner of her eye.
Kyler had gone six or seven floors down the spiral staircase, following the sound of Kayla’s crying. He’d lost track after the third or fourth floor. At each floor, he noticed a locked door. He knew they were locked, because he’d tried every one that he passed. He was looking for an escape route in case the werewolves decided to come back.
The farther down he went, the louder the crying got. He was getting closer, but the darkness was playing tricks on him. He thought he kept seeing things on the stairs as he descended, always waiting a few moments, before continuing.
He walked down at least another three floors when he noticed something. The crying had stopped. Oh great, he thought to himself. That’s just great. He could’ve held that baby for two hours and she wouldn’t have stopped crying, but the one time that he needed her to cry, she had stopped.
He continued to move down the stairs, the steps making a clanking sound every time his foot touched the metal plates. The air in the stairwell had become stale…and he also began to notice another smell…a familiar smell. It was the smell of decay, and it was getting stronger with each step. Something or someone had died down there, and recently by his calculations. Follow the smell, he told himself, and you’ll probably find the werewolves’ lair.
He descended floor after floor, remembering to check each door, which were all locked. Finally, he came to a landing and thought that he was going to vomit. The smell of decay was so overpowering that no matter how long he held his breath, the smell had a way of getting through his mouth and nostrils. When he reached what he thought was the nineteenth or twentieth floor, he stopped. On the landing, he could see rubble scattered about. The door had been knocked away with such a force that it had almost shattered into dust. The smell of decay was coming through the hole and was strong enough to knock down an elephant.
“Here we go again,” Kyler said aloud as he stepped through the now open doorway.
As he stepped through the room, the first thing he noticed was that there was light coming from the ceiling, not much, but enough to tell him that he was in some sort of control room, or a place that had at one time, been some sort of control room, because it looked like someone had gone over the room with a fine toothed sledgehammer. Desks and chairs were thrown about as if John Belushi had yelled “Furniture fight!” and all hell had broken loose. He also saw large, black dried puddles of what he knew to be blood. With the smell of dead flesh in the room, it didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
He looked around the room, his shirt pulled over his nose. He was trying to breathe through his mouth. Something had happened in this room…something bad. As his eyes were adjusting to the dim lighting, he heard a sound…the sound of a baby cooing. Kayla. He made his way around the shattered desks and broken chairs, following the sound of the child.
“Kayla,” he whispered. “Kayla.”
He heard the noise again. It had come from his right. He looked at what he thought was a long table sitting alone on the other side of the room. As he neared it, he could see something on the table…and it was moving.
He approached the table and looked down to see Kayla, who appeared to be asleep, her little arms and legs twitching. Kyler picked up the baby, taking his shirt away from his nose as he did so. He thought that the stench was going to kill him. He tried breathing through his mouth, but once he realized what foul molecules were going into it, he closed his mouth.
Where was Shelly, he wondered, and why did she want to come to this place, and more importantly, why would she leave her baby alone in this piss hole? It didn’t matter much. Shelly or no Shelly, he was going to get this baby out of here.
Carrying Kayla in his arms, Kyler began to make his way toward the door. As he was about to step through the doorway, he heard someone or something moving slowly down the stairs, slowly, but with heavy footfalls and a guttural sound coming from its mouth. He moved back from the doorway. His mind began to race. Should he run down the stairs and away from it, not knowing what might lie at the bottom…assuming there was a bottom…or stay where he was and hide, with the hope that Kayla would remain completely still?
His mind was made up for him when he saw the shadow of the thing on the wall. Pointed ears and guttural sounds…yep, it was a werewolf. He tiptoed back through the room. It was hard keeping his balance as he tried to hold the baby and maneuver his way around the broken furniture at the same time. He headed across the room toward what looked to be a vending area. As he neared the small room, the smell of decay became stronger. Whatever was dead was in there, and he was about to join it.
Kyler jumped into the room and leaned against the wall just inside the doorway. Oh god…the smell. He closed both his nostrils and his mouth tightly, his gag reflex working overtime. He felt like one of those old Madd Magazine drawings where the character’s cheeks are puffed out and he has a finger pressed against his mouth, all in an attempt not to vomit.
Kyler heard the werewolf’s footsteps stop at the landing. Shit! Shit! Shit! He peaked around the corner to see the creature standing in the doorway, but not coming in. It was growling as it poked its head inside the room and looked around, its yellow eyes searching the room.
Kyler ducked back into the doorway, keeping his back to the wall and the baby’s face pressed gently to his neck. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he now realized that the decaying flesh didn’t belong to a bunch of rats or mice or pigeons or any other type of animal that one might find in the bowels of a dark building. They were human…or had been human. Even in the dark,
he could see that the bodies had been torn in two and fed upon. There were intestines and God knew what littering the floor and even the walls. Who were these people? Caps, sunglasses, and even guns littered the floor. They must’ve been army personnel. Had they survived the storms and remained where they were, oblivious to the other survivors, or had they survived the storms and known of Kyler and the others and just didn’t do anything to help them? Perhaps they had watched them on the monitors…watched their every movement on their monitors, while perhaps plotting the best way to get rid of them?
Kyler’s mind flew back to the present as the beast in the doorway let out a loud howl that made his skin crawl in fourteen different directions. He looked down and saw a rifle of some sort. From what little he knew of rifles, he would guess that it was an Uzi. He’d seen enough Mafia and mercenary movies to know an Uzi when he saw one. As he slid down the wall, arm extended, trying not to drop the baby, he began to wonder why the werewolf wasn’t coming inside. Why was it just standing in the doorway? Why didn’t it just come in and get him?
Kyler finally slid down far enough that he could feel the cold metal of the gun. He’d always expected Uzi’s to be made out of plastic for some reason. They always looked like they were made out of plastic on TV. He felt around for the trigger guard…and found it. There was one problem, though. There was a severed hand still gripping the gun…a left hand if he wasn’t mistaken. He could tell by which side of the trigger guard that the index finger was poking through, and in this case, it was the left one. The hand was cold to the touch. It was complete with hairy knuckles and, from what he could tell, a ring on the third finger. Rigor had set in and the bones made a groaning/cracking sound as he pried them off one by one. He assumed that having pried the fingers off of the gun butt, that the trigger finger would simply fall away, but no such luck was forthcoming, because when he picked it up, the finger dangled from the trigger guard. Kyler tried to shake it loose, but with the rigor having set in, it was firmly curled around the trigger guard like a steel hook. Kyler wasn’t sure what do now. He looked at the baby in his right arm and looked at the Uzi in his left, the hand dangling from the end. With the thumb and three fingers straightened a little, and the index finger in a curl, it reminded Kyler of the time his dad tried to teach him how to throw a curve ball, the fingers in almost the exact position as his dad’s.
Kyler gave the Uzi a few more shakes, trying to dislodge the finger, but it was all for naught. That index finger wasn’t coming loose. Kyler was out of options, so he pulled the Uzi closer to him, opened his mouth and bit down on the end of the finger, trying to straighten it out. He gagged as the palm of the cold hand fell against his chin and rested there. He gagged again as the finger began to straighten out and he could feel the fingerprints sliding across his teeth and the sound of the bone straightening out. Finally, the finger was straight enough so that when he shook the gun, the hand dislodged and flew to his left, making a sickening thud as it hit the floor.
Kyler felt around for the trigger guard with his left hand. He knew that one of these alone wasn’t going to stop a werewolf, but it might hurt it enough to buy time if he needed it. He only hoped that all he had to do was pull the trigger.
He peeked around the corner. It was gone. He could see its shadow as it slunk away, growling as it continued down the stairs. He was in luck. He would let the thing get far enough away and then go upstairs and hopefully not run into the rest of them as they were coming back.
Kyler walked over to the table that he’d found Kayla lying upon, and laid her down on it to give his arm a short rest before starting back up the staircase, plus he wanted to take a look at the Uzi and see if there were any weird gadgets that he had to fiddle with before the gun would shoot. He moved under one of the ceiling lights and turned over the gun. Why did everything on it have to be painted black? Why couldn’t they put colors on it…like green for ready…and red for “safety”? He turned it over again and again, but he couldn’t find any switches or levers. He doubted very seriously that the safety was on, seeing how a hand had been attached to it, and a finger was on the trigger. He’d just have to take his chances.
Kyler laid the gun on the table and scooped Kayla up with both hands. Good. She was still asleep. He moved her to his right arm and reached down to pick up the rifle. Just as he touched the gun, something small jumped onto the table and landed right next to his hand. Kyler jumped backwards, almost dropping Kayla.
“What the shit!” he yelped.
The thing on the table was small…about the size of a little girl’s doll…and it was covered with hair. It stood on two hind legs and hissed at him. He saw pointed little ears and fuzz sticking up from the top of its head. Its little arms were spread out from its side with little claws attached to little hands. He couldn’t see the things face very well in the dim light, but he had no doubt what it was. It was Kayla’s twin…Oliver. Klefka hadn’t killed him after all.
It hissed at him again, but didn’t advance. Kyler did see something glimmering when the thing opened his mouth. Tiny little fangs. Its small yellow eyes shone under the light, reminding Kyler of the raccoons he used to chase away from the family garbage cans. Once discovered, they would always look up at him, their eyes glowing in the dark.
The werewolf cub stood motionless, its arms still extended. Kyler was just beginning to wonder how it could stand up so well without falling over, when he spotted tiny claws protruding from the thing’s toes, and digging into the table.
“You think I’m taking your sister, don’t you, little man?” he asked softly.
Never taking his eyes from its eyes, Kyler slowly reached down for the gun. As his hand moved closer, he saw the creature’s mouth turn up. This allowed him to see even more of its teeth. He saw one of its fangs glimmer again under the light. Kyler halfway expected to hear a “ding” sound, like you always heard in toothpaste commercials when they wanted to let you know how clean the person’s teeth were.
As Kyler’s hand inched closer to the gun, he could see the thing’s body start to tense as if ready to pounce, and a low puppy-like growl emanating from its mouth.
“Nice puppy,” Kyler cooed. “Nice cub…”
He could see the werewolf’s hands start to curl into claws as his own hand drew nearer to the gun.
Kyler stopped moving his hand and stood completely still. It was time for them to draw…the question being, who would draw first? Kyler looked into the yellow eyes, and they looked deadly, the little slits for pupils made it look more like a small fox.
The two remained still, neither looking away. Kyler looked away from the werewolf for a split second so he could get a good view of exactly where the gun was and exactly how it was lying. He couldn’t afford to lose a single second. He had to snatch it and snatch it quickly, because he was pretty sure that he’d only get one chance.
He moved his eyes back to the werewolf who was still looking him dead in the eye. As if someone had yelled “draw!” Kyler made a grab for the gun. The beast jumped at his hand, but Kyler had memorized the rifle’s position and was able to pick it up quickly. As he pulled the gun from the table, the thing snapped its jaws at his hand. Kyler felt its tiny, razor sharp teeth raking across the top of his hand. It felt like someone had taken a pair of razorblades to him.
He grunted in pain as he pulled his hand away. The thing jumped onto the gun arm and began to claw at it, ripping through the shirt and tearing his skin. He tried to shake it off, but it was holding on too tightly. He saw the thing open its mouth. It was going to bite him. Just as it was about to sink its teeth into him, Kyler raised his arm up into the air and sent it crashing down onto the table. The creature yelped as it crashed against the hard wood. Stunned, the thing let go of him and rolled away as Kyler pulled his arm back.
He decided not to wait around to find out where the monster had rolled away to, but instead took the gun and the baby and ran for the doorway. As soon as he cleared the doorway, he began to run up the stairs as
fast as he could go, which wasn’t very, because he had no hand to put on the banister, making it difficult to keep his balance.
Kayla was awake now, but wasn’t crying. If she had been crying, Kyler wasn’t so sure he would’ve been able to hear it above his own panting. He ran up three floors, before having to stop to rest. He gasped for air as he turned to look down the long dark staircase. Something was coming toward him. He could hear “pat” “pat” “pat’ across the metal plates. The sound grew louder telling him that it was getting close to him. He was too tired to run and he still had probably seven or eight floors to go, so he waited on the stairs.
“Pat” “pat” “pat” “pat” “pat”. It was getting closer. “Pat” pat” “pat” “pat”. Kyler kept his eyes on the curve of the stairs, because if he didn’t, the wolf cub would be on him before he had a chance to react. He waited. “Pat” “pat” “pat” “pat”.
Kyler saw the small silhouette rounding the corner just in front of him. It was on all fours and running like a dog, hissing as it spotted him. The thing was only two steps away from him, when Kyler reared back his left foot and kicked it squarely in the face. The blow sent the werewolf flying backwards through the air, end over end like a football on a field goal attempt. It yelped as it hit the staircase and rolled down what sounded to Kyler like fifteen or twenty steps before stopping.
“You’re really good, Kyler,” he remarked to himself. “You just kicked a five-day-old baby in the head.”
He shifted Kayla in his arms, and waited.
After a few seconds, he heard it again. “Pat” “pat” “pat” “pat”. Kyler aimed the gun at the darkness and pulled the trigger. It was then that he realized why people held their Uzi’s with both hands in the movies. Holding it with one hand gives the shooter absolutely no control over it. It flew to the left, then the right, then up, then down, the whole time spraying the stairwell, stairs, steps, walls, and ceiling, the fire from the barrel lighting up the stairwell as the bullets hit their unintended targets. The stairwell echoed with the sound of bullets hitting the metal banister and steps.
