FULL MOON ISLAND

by Terry Yates

  They were no more than ten feet away from the rubble, when they heard a low groan.

  “O’Hearley!” Potts exclaimed as the two ran toward the rubble. When they reached the pile of rubble, they immediately began to pull away cinderblocks, sheetrock, and tile. There was a large steel beam lying on top of the pile, which the two of them attempted to move, but was too large for them.

  “O’Hearley…you in there?” Potts asked.

  They heard another groan.

  “He’s alive, Colonel!” FranAnne exclaimed, as the two began to pull debris from around the beam.

  They had to be careful with what they moved, because they didn’t want to pull anything away that might make the beam shift and drop down on top of him. They dug and dug, trying to find some sort of opening where they could at least get him some air.

  “Can you hear us, Professor?” FranAnne asked as she pulled away a large cinder block that had a piece of metal sticking out of it. “Say something, Professor!”

  “He might not be able to hear us if he was too close to that blast,” Potts told her, pulling part of the security console away.

  They heard another groan, only louder this time.

  “I think we’re getting close, Colonel!” FranAnne exclaimed, digging faster.

  As the two dug through the pile, the groans got louder.

  “Hang in there, Professor!” FranAnne yelled, trying her best to work faster. “What are we going to do about the beam, Colonel?” she asked Potts.

  But Potts wasn’t answering. He remained on one knee, a strange look on his face.

  “Colonel?”

  “Shh!”

  “Colonel, we have to…”

  “Be quiet, Fulton.”

  FranAnne watched Potts put his ear to the rubble.

  “Did you notice that?” he asked, almost whispering.

  “Hear what?”

  “Listen.”

  FranAnne put her ear to pile.

  “All I hear is Professor O’Hearley groaning.”

  “Have you ever heard someone groan, Pvt. Fulton?”

  “Sure…lots of times. What does…”

  “Generally when someone groans, they groan as they’re exhaling, the pain mixing with the air leaving the lungs.”

  “So?”

  “So, listen.”

  FranAnne put her ear to the pile again and listened. She looked up and shook her head in confusion.

  “Don’t your hear it? Potts said, whispering now. “Listen closely.”

  FranAnne listened to the groans as they exhaled, but noticed something strange. She also heard groans on the inhale as well, but on the inhale, she heard a different sound…a deep throaty sound…almost the kind an animal would make. The reality of what Potts was talking about had suddenly kicked in.

  “You don’t think…”

  Before either one of them could react, rubble was flying everywhere, and a giant claw slammed against the side of Potts’ face. The large hand crushed his right cheekbone and a long talon scraped across his eye. Potts flew sideways over the debris as the werewolf began to dig its way out of the rubble. FranAnne ran to Potts who was holding the right side of his face, blood dripping down onto his hand.

  “Colonel!” she screamed, pulling Potts from the floor.

  Both of the monster’s arms were sticking up from the pile while the pile itself began to shake violently. The werewolf was pushing its way up from the floor, rubble falling all around it.

  “Come on, Colonel!” FranAnne yelled, pulling Potts away from the pile.

  “Shit, I can’t see!” Potts shouted.

  FranAnne looked at the pile again just as the werewolf’s head and chest poked through. The beast let out an angry roar as it tried to stand, throwing debris around it. FranAnne could see that its face was almost shredded in places. The upper and lower parts of its mouth didn’t line up evenly, because part of its jaw was sticking out through its cheek.

  With both arms around Potts, FranAnne began to pull him down the hallway, sidestepping the debris. She could hear the beast breaking free, the sound of rubble falling off it from both sides.

  They rounded the corner of the hallway. Now that they were clear of the debris, FranAnne took her arms from around Potts’ shoulders, instead taking him by the arm, so that they could move faster.

  “Do you still have the professor’s cardkey, Colonel? She asked as they headed toward the elevators.

  Potts removed his bloodied hand from his face, and reached into his right pocket. FranAnne couldn’t see the wounded side of his face, but she could tell that it was bad. She saw a large flap of skin hanging down.

  As they ran, Potts handed her the cardkey, now completely covered in blood. As they rounded the next corner, FranAnne saw the elevator bank. As they reached the elevators, they heard a loud roar and a howl. The werewolf was loose.

  FranAnne fumbled with the cardkey, trying to wipe the blood off of it, so that she could tell which end was up. There was no strip side so she just pushed the card into the keypad. Nothing happened.

  “Colonel! I don’t know the code!”

  She could hear the werewolf moving down the corridor toward them. Potts pushed her aside and leaned down to the keypad. With his free hand, he pushed a sequence of numbers that he’d seen Locklear push. Almost at once, an elevator door opened and FranAnne helped Potts inside. Just as they got inside, FranAnne saw the werewolf round the corner and head straight for them. The doors automatically closed behind them, the werewolf no more than ten feet away. FranAnne saw that its lower chest and his upper stomach had been blown away from its body, its entrails hanging down like a string of sausage links.

  As the elevator began to move, it was rocked by a large thud. The werewolf had punched the outside door, trying to force it open. The elevator stopped for a moment, but then continued again. They could hear the creature pulling the outer doors apart, the metal screeching loudly above them.

  Potts began to wipe the blood from his face.

  “God damn, my cheeks caved in!” he said aloud.

  FranAnne wasn’t listening. She was staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the werewolf to land on top of the car.

  “Still have your pistol?” Potts asked her, wiping blood from his eye.

  Still looking up, FranAnne silently pulled the revolver from the back of her pants and handed it to him. Potts put the gun up to his good eye, and then removed the clip.

  “Sumbitch blinded me,” he muttered, training his eye on the side of the clip. “You’ve got about eight shots in there, so make ‘em count,” he said handing it back to her.

  FranAnne looked at him and for the first time, got a good look at his face. From his right eyebrow down to his cheek was torn and bloody. His right cheekbone had been smashed, making it look like the right side of his face had caved in. She couldn’t see his eye behind all of the blood, which he kept trying to wipe away with his blood soaked handkerchief.

  “I could kill that doctor,” Potts said as the elevator continued to descend.

  Locklear O’Hearley lay flat on his back in the grass. He had made it out of the building, off of the porch area, and into the grass before the four grenades exploded. The force sent his large body flying through the air. He landed hard on his back, his head hitting the ground and knocking him into semi-consciousness.

  Landing on his back had knocked the wind out of him. He tried to gasp for air, but the pain was excruciating when he tried to inhale, telling him that he probably had several broken ribs. He let out a loud groan as he opened his eyes. His whole body tingled as if he’d just had ten thousand volts of electricity shot through him.

  As his eyes began to focus, he could see that he was staring straight up into the night sky, the bright orange full moon shining straight down at him. For a moment, he couldn’t remember how he had ended up in the yard or why he was in so much agony. Where were Ariella and Lauren?

  Locklear felt a sudden breeze blowing over him, the air warm against his skin
. A moment later, he heard a sound…a whirring noise. It almost sounded like…a helicopter.

  Locklear held his side as he rolled over onto his right elbow. He looked up to see bright lights shining into his face. He put his hand over his squinted eyes, trying to focus on them. There was a red light and a blue light. He groaned as he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Above the lights, he could see something moving round and round. Helicopter blades…two of them. It was a double-bladed military helicopter.

  At that moment, everything began to come back to Locklear. Memories of both hurricanes and the werewolf flooded back into his consciousness, reminding him that they had been on their own for four days, waiting for rescue copters…and here they were… well, one anyway. But it was a big one…one of those kinds that can carry a whole platoon of soldiers.

  Locklear slowly and painfully made his way to his feet. He looked down and saw that his white lab coat was torn and singed. Ah yes, the explosion. That crazy colonel had tried to blow the werewolf to bits with a vest full of hand grenades.

  Locklear’s equilibrium was a little off, but he managed to keep his feet. He looked at the helicopter, which had landed just outside the broken fence. In front of it, stood at least fifteen silhouettes, all standing stone still.

  He began to slowly walk toward the chopper, raising his arm into the air as if he were hailing a cab.

  “Hey…” he managed to utter. “Over here…”

  Locklear felt like he was in one of those dreams where you walked and talked in slow motion.

  “Hey…” he repeated, weakly, his arm still raised high into the air.

  As he neared the chopper, he could see the silhouettes more clearly. They seemed to be dressed in one-piece uniforms and wore baseball caps on their heads. It also looked as if they were wearing sunglasses, but he knew that couldn’t be right. It was the middle of the night. No one would wear sunglasses in the middle of the night.

  He was no more than fifty feet away from them and could now see the soldiers more clearly. They were holding machine guns straight out in front of them. They must know about the werewolf, he told himself.

  “Boy, are we glad to see you,” Locklear managed to say as he drew nearer.

  For a moment, it looked like several fireflies flew in front of three of the soldiers. It wasn’t until he felt the bullets tear through his body that he realized that it wasn’t fireflies, but the fire shooting out of three gun barrels. The bullets knocked him backwards, but didn’t knock him down. He was already in such pain, he didn’t even feel the bullets at first, only a few sharp little kicks. It wasn’t until he looked down at his lab coat and noticed several large holes with blood starting to pour through that the gravity of the situation hit him. Their rescuers had just shot him. After surviving two hurricanes and four horrendous nights battling a werewolf, it was all ending with his rescuers mistaking him for whom, he wondered.

  “No,” he tried to say, but blood was already pouring into his mouth.

  He began to walk forward again, holding his stomach. He raised one bloodied hand again trying to let them see that he was friendly, but they just stood there watching him. Why weren’t they helping him? Why weren’t they running to him and screaming about how sorry they were that they hadn’t realized that he wasn’t the enemy, and that they had made a mistake and hit him with friendly fire?

  His mind was becoming fuzzy as he continued moving toward them. He saw one of the figures raise his hand. Ah, there we go, he thought. The commanding officer has realized his mistake and was halting them before things got too out of hand.

  Locklear smiled as he drew nearer, the blood running down both sides of his mouth. Things would be better soon, he told himself. These people would run in, kill the werewolf, grab Ariella, Lauren, and the others, and chopper them all back to Miami where everything would be fine.

  He was no more than thirty feet away from them, when the commander raised his hand even higher into the air and said one word. His hearing from the grenade blast had deafened him some, but he was almost positive, or maybe he was simply hoping that the man had said “medic”, or “hold”. But the man hadn’t said either of those words. What he had actually said was…”fire”.

  The next thing he knew, there was fire coming from at least half a dozen rifle barrels, the force of dozens of bullets hitting him in the chest, stomach, shoulders, and arms knocking him flat on his back again. This time, he felt the pain, but not for long, because he was growing cold.

  His eyes were focused on the moon above him, its bright orange glow slowly fading, as his eyes grew dim. His only thoughts now were of Ariella and Lauren. He could see them both as clear as day in his mind. The three of them were sitting in their home watching Jeopardy and they were all trying to yell out the answers first, but Lauren would always remind them that they forgot to answer in the form of a question, so she won by default…that is, of course, if she didn’t win on her own. What a bright child, he and Ariella had raised.

  As he lay there, he saw someone standing over him, blocking out the moon. It was Ariella and she was smiling, which she didn’t do a whole lot of even when she was happy.

  “He’s still alive,” she said to him. It didn’t make much sense, but he didn’t care…just seeing her there…and seeing that she was all right was enough for him.

  “How’s Lauren?” he managed to asked, the blood now choking and strangling him. “Is she okay?”

  “Who?” Ariella asked.

  “Lauren?” he repeated. “How is she?”

  “Don’t know a Lauren,” she answered holding something out in front of her. It almost looked like a pistol.

  “Har…har…har…” he shot back weakly.

  There was a sudden flash of light, followed by a short moment of pain, and then all was dark for Professor Locklear O’Hearley.

  Holding her pistol down at her side, Zora peeked around the corner of the hallway. She was looking down a long empty corridor.

  “So far. So good,” she said, turning to the others.

  “How much farther to the elevator?” Kyler asked as he and Zack set Michael down on one foot and let him lean against the wall.

  “I think it’s just around the next corner on the left,” she answered.

  The seven of them had made it down three long hallways without seeing so much as a hint of the werewolf clan. With Kyler and Zack carrying Michael, and Lauren carrying Kayla Dixon, not to mention their need for stealth, it had taken them thirty-five minutes to get from the sleeping quarters to where they were now. Kyler was zapped of all energy and was having trouble keeping his legs from cramping, but there was no other position for him to hold the boy. Lauren couldn’t help with Michael and even if she had been capable, she had ten of his stitches in her stomach and they wouldn’t hold if she carried very much. He had been worried about a seven pound baby being too much of a strain for her, but she seemed to be doing fine in that department. Under different circumstances, he would’ve been prepared to say that she was happy with her newfound responsibility. Taking Zora or Sam’s place was out as well. He’d already proven his prowess with a gun after having shot up a stairwell and a corridor without hitting anything but stairwell and corridor. So he was stuck.

  He started to bend down and look at Michael’s splint, but he was afraid that once he went down, he might not be able to get up again, so instead, he stepped back a few feet and looked at the splint. Not bad, he thought to himself. It seemed to be holding fine. He didn’t like the look of the leg though. It was almost completely purple from his knee to his foot. Four days with an untreated broken leg must’ve been sheer hell for the boy, but he didn’t show it. Kyler looked up at Michael, not believing that just days ago, he’d been a whiny, bratty, self-centered little snot of a shit, but here he was now, a completely different person. If they ever got out of this place, he would have a thing or two to say to the kid’s parents.

  “Are you ready?” Zora asked, looking at Kyler.

  “I suppo
se I’ll have to be,” he answered, smiling.

  She smiled that soft smile at him again before looking around the corner again.

  “Come on,” she said, holding up her gun again as she rounded the corner, followed by Lauren and Kayla.

  Kyler took a deep breath, and then walked back over to Michael who already had his arm out, waiting to put it around his shoulder. Kyler and Zack picked him up and began to follow the others down the corridor. In last place, Sam was walking nearly backwards. He didn’t want to be surprised from behind.

  They moved silently down the corridor, the only sound coming from Kayla who gurgled once in a while. They were halfway down the long hall when Zora stopped for a moment and turned her head sideways as if listening for something.

  “What is it?” Kyler whispered.

  “I thought I heard something,” she whispered back.

  She paused for another moment before waving them on. As they neared the end of the passage, Zora began to slow down. When she was no more than five feet away from the end, she began to hug the left wall, her gun up in the air. She crept to the very end of the wall and peeked around the corner, careful to look both ways first. Seeing nothing, she motioned for them to follow.

  As they rounded the corner, Kyler could see the elevator looming in front of them. It was only a few steps away, but seemed like a hundred yards to the steel sanctuary. Zora walked quickly to the elevator and pushed the button. They could hear the hum of the elevator moving down toward them. When the rest of the group caught up with her, Kyler and Zack set Michael down against the wall again. Zora and Sam both cocked their guns and covered them from both directions as the elevator made its way toward them.

  “I wish that thing would hurry up,” Sam said.

  “Relax,” Zora told him. “It’s coming down from the first floor.”

  Finally, they saw the elevator through the outer door cracks. When the doors opened, they were startled to see Potts and FranAnne stumble out of the elevator, knocking Zora down. She had been standing right in front of the door when it opened, and the two soldiers had literally run her over, causing her to drop her gun. Everyone screamed in fright, each thinking the other was a werewolf.