The Lot

by Snyder, Clayton

  "Ah, I see. Far be it from me to step on the toes of the holy." A voice in the back of my mind was pointing out how weird it was he didn't react like the other church goers. He must've known who I was.

  I stuck out my hand. "Peck."

  He nodded, and shook it with a firm grip. Not too strong, not too weak. He was sure of himself. "Timothy."

  I let his hand drop, and eyed him.

  "I hear you've been looking for me, Mr. Peck."

  "Yeah." I drew the word out. "You know who I am, right?"

  "Indeed." He fished inside his robe, and pulled out a ring of keys. "The Wolf."

  "And you're not star struck?" I was a little hurt.

  He smiled, though it didn't touch his eyes. "Mr. Peck, though I respect my colleagues, I'm not sure their...direction is always for the best."

  "What do you think is right for the Church then?"

  He shrugged. "Ministry. Succor. Compassion."

  "You don't believe that's always provided?" I asked.

  "Not always." He unlocked the doors, and opened them, then stepped inside. "Would you like to come in, look around? There are seats inside. We can continue our conversation in relative comfort."

  I looked up and down the street. It was still empty. I considered the wisdom of following a strange man into an abandoned building. I decided against it, and shook my head.

  "No thanks." I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the worn picture of the boy and his friend. I showed it to Brother Timothy. "You recognize this boy?"

  Something flashed in his eyes. I couldn't be sure if it was recognition, or annoyance, or something else altogether, though I could smell the slight sheen of sweat that had sprung up under his robes and began to cling to the fabric. After a moment, he shook his head.

  "No, sorry. Is he in trouble?"

  "You could say that." I said. I slipped the picture back into my jacket, and looked him in the eye. He didn't flinch. "One more question."

  He smiled again, and again it didn't touch his eyes. "Sure. Shoot."

  "You missing anyone? Any new recruits, anybody you might've cut loose because they were maybe shy a couple crackers of a sleeve?"

  The corner of his eye twitched, and a bead of sweat rolled from his hairline into his collar. He shook his head. "No, sorry. Why?"

  "Maybe trouble. Maybe not. Can't say for who."

  "Sorry to hear that." He said. He looked past me, into the sky. "Mind if I go? I've got things to do yet, if this place is going to be ready for the Brothers."

  I looked at him hard for a moment. My gut told me he was lying. My brain told me there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it without proof. He started to look away, and I dropped the stare.

  "No, sorry to keep you. Let me know if you see or hear anything."

  He nodded. "Will do." With that, he disappeared into the theater, and shut the door behind him, leaving me out in the steadily-dwindling light. I turned from the door, and tried to decide what to do next.

  I would need to talk to Vlad and Adam sometime soon. I needed to break the news about Manny to them. I needed to come clean, and find out what the consequences would be. My stomach twisted at the thought, but there was nothing to be done for it. Better out and done than hidden and festering.

  I looked to the horizon, where the sun was slipping below the curve of the earth, and decided it could wait one more night. Besides, I needed to get Cora settled. If anything happened to me, she'd need to be taken care of.

  I walked home with the setting sun at my back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cora was waiting at the kitchen table when I got home. I hung up my jacket and slipped the holster off, then put the pistol on my bedside table. I came back out, and grabbed two Cokes from the fridge, and passed her one, then sat down. A small bag sat next to her, and she was fidgeting with a cigarette. I went and got her an empty can from the trash, filled it half-full of water and passed it to her.

  "Thanks." She said.

  "Ran into Timmy." I said.

  Her eyebrows perked in interest. "How'd that go?"

  I shrugged. "He knows something." I sipped at my Coke, and leaned back in the chair. "You hungry?"

  She lit her cigarette. "Starving."

  I stood, and began to make dinner while she smoked. While I did, we chatted.

  "You can sleep on the couch tonight. I'll get your room made up tomorrow night. I have something to do during the day."

  "That's fine." She said. "Better than those damn Army cots down at the Church." She paused a beat. "What kind of thing?"

  "Family business."

  "You have family?"

  I shrugged a shoulder, and gestured with the spatula in a vague direction. "We're all kind of family here."

  "Can I come?" She asked.

  I thought about it. It might temper their response if a norm was with me. Then again, it might just piss them off more. I decided it might not be a good idea to expose Cora to a group of angry monsters. I shook my head.

  "Shouldn't take me long. If you're bored, feel free to tinker around with the bedroom."

  "Fair enough." She said.

  I finished cooking, and brought our dinner out to the table. We ate in silence, and when we were done, she lit a cigarette, while I did the dishes. After, we sat on the couch and chatted a bit more about nothing in particular. Finally, the day caught up to me, and I fetched her a spare blanket and a pillow, then turned in. It wasn't long after my head hit the pillow that I slipped away.

  *

  I woke in the small hours of the morning, the smell of cigarette smoke still hanging in the air. Cora had had trouble sleeping. I didn't blame her. New place, new face for a roommate, and a monster to boot. I sat up in bed, and heard the sound of the hammer of my pistol being pulled back. I froze.

  "Cora?"

  No answer. My mind spun up into a furious whirl, and I considered changing. If I could wolf out fast enough, I could take out the threat. Then again, if whoever it was saw me change, I would be just as dead. A bullet might not kill me, but it would sure as hell hurt and slow me down. I couldn't count on it. I took a deep breath, and tried to get a scent.

  More cigarette, gun oil, and a light perfume. I knew. "Cora. Put the gun down."

  There was a click, and then a sound like someone had detonated a small bundle of TNT in the room. A small car hit me in the chest, and I felt myself fall back into the bed. I had time to think Shit, she shot me.

  Chapter Twenty

  I don't know if you've ever been shot - I hope not, because you're probably not reading this, or if you are, you're not happy. It hurts. The bullet wasn't silver, so I knew I wasn't going to die, and I hoped to God Cora didn't have the inclination to stick around and finish the job.

  From somewhere distant, I heard the pistol hit the ground, the sound of running feet, and the sound of a door slamming open. The stink of cordite and blood filled my nostrils, and pain like someone was trying to shove a white-hot poker from inside my ribs out made me nearly black out. I screamed, once, and tried to concentrate as the bullet worked its way out.

  I listened the best I could, for approaching steps, for the scent of men. So far, I couldn't hear a thing, and hoped that was because Cora hadn't told anyone yet. The bullet shifted again, and I screamed a second time. Call me weak. I don't do well with being shot. I managed to prop myself to my elbows, and then to a sitting position. The Beast raged in my head, and I wanted nothing more than to let it out. I fought the urge - mindless murder wasn't going to help me right this moment.

  The bullet shifted one last time and popped out of my chest. It landed in my lap, and I cussed the little bastard out while I tried to get a grip on the betrayal. Timothy obviously had sent Cora to make nice, to get me to drop my defenses. Like a big hairy idiot, I obliged. I was still confused. What had made her agree to it? Members of the Church weren't inclined to harm us. They were the autograph seekers, the boy band fans of the monster world. I wondered if there was something more there, may
be a leverage he held over her.

  A smell came to me on the breeze carried through the open door, of sweat and unwashed clothing and steel, and I knew they were coming. The realization washed the questions from my mind. I staggered over to where the pistol lay and picked it up, checking the action. I could hear their footsteps, running over pavement. I crouched beside the bed and waited and ran my options over in my head.

  They were coming hard. The closer they drew, the stronger the scents of steel and oil became. I thanked God for small miracles I didn't smell the particular tang of silver on the air - that one smells like a shivering on the wind, like death come knocking for me. It also meant they didn't mean to truly kill me - just to put me out of commission for a while. I looked at the gun in my hand, and tried to decide if it was worth deadly force. They were coming to hurt me, maybe fill my head with that red shit, which, if Jekyll was right, meant curtains anyway. It made the decision clearer, if no easier.

  I don't like killing. It's not easy, no matter how it looks from the outside. It's a hell of a thing to make the conscious decision to end someone's life. To make the decision that they no longer exist in this world in any sentient state. No more days with the family, no more turkey dinners, no more nights spent watching terrible movies and drinking beer with friends. Just...done. It's harder still when you've done it in the past, and know the personal toll it takes. You try not to be that guy. Sometimes you step out of the role. Sometimes you're typecast.

  I drew a deep breath and winced at the ache in my chest. It was better, healing. Faster than any normal man, anyway. Sometimes the Beast comes in handy. I ducked beside the bed, and took aim with the pistol. I had five shots. Better make them count.

  Heavy breathing. The pound of feet on floorboards, and the smell of sweat, and just under that, fear. They were shouting to each other as they came.

  "House is open!"

  Footsteps drew near my room, and I aimed down the sights. I took a breath, and let it out slow, like they teach you at the range. The first man came into view, a whip of a man with a stocking cap and bad teeth. He was carrying a length of pipe with a crook at the end. His eyes met mine, and he whipped his head to the side, calling over his shoulder.

  "Found him!"

  He advanced into the room, and I tried to talk him down.

  "Pipe versus pistol. You really want to do this?"

  He just grinned. I could see the whites of his eyes were red. Others were coming behind him - I could hear them, smell them. I cursed under my breath, and squeezed off a shot. The sound was deafening in the small room, and my ears rang like a thousand bells. I blinked away the muzzle flash and saw the shot had gone wide, gouging a hole in the doorframe. The man was advancing again, and I took aim a second time.

  BANG!

  The shot hit him in the hip and spun him around. He screamed and went down, and another took his place, stepping over his buddy's body. My nose was clogged with the smells of cordite and the coppery tang of blood.

  BANG!

  They kept coming. I put down three more, and they kept coming. I tossed the empty pistol to the side in frustration and ducked a short spade wielded by a man in an Iron Maiden shirt. I chucked a fist at his ribs and felt something break. He went down with a grunt and a chuff of air, and I caught an elbow in the side from another direction. The blow staggered me, and I stumbled back and tried to get my bearings.

  More men were filing in through the door wielding increasingly alarming weapons, including something that looked like a fireplace poker with an edge. I made a quick calculation. Several goons plus pointy sticks plus a mindless devotion to kicking my ass equaled one bruised wolf.

  I ducked another swing, this time from a weighted bat, and heard it thunk into my bed. I returned with an uppercut, taking the man off his feet for a second, and giving me time to deal with another who had tried to sneak up behind me. I spun, and tripped over one of the bodies I had made. I went down, hard, and the back of my head hit the hardwood with another thunk. I saw stars, and the Beast raged inside. Despite the cage, the fight had drawn him to just beneath the surface, and I could feel him thrashing at the bars.

  One of the men took advantage of my position and jumped on top of me, pinning my arms with his. He was strong, and though I tried to fight, he was also big. Like small tractor big. He leaned in and opened his mouth over my face, and I pulled back on instinct. His breath smelled like rancid pudding. I struggled harder, and that's when a pulsing red mass slipped from between his teeth. It was thick and viscous, and hung suspended over my mouth. I snapped my head to the side, and shoved upward with my whole body. Luck was with me, and I threw the man over, only to have another take his place and pin me down again.

  "I am not a carnival ride, you assholes." I growled. I fought, and he repeated the same thing his disgusting buddy just had. The red mass slipped closer to me, and I could feel its heat on my cheek. I bucked, but he was wiry, and held on. Despair sunk in, and I closed my eyes, began to imagine the cage opening.

  A roar from the front of the house broke my concentration, and the man on top of me whipped his head to the side, distracted. I bucked one more time, and threw him off, and that's when two things happened.

  One, a pale blur swept into the room, and weapons fell from nerveless hands. A few men cried out and tried to fight back, but were quickly incapacitated. Two, a seven-foot hurricane wandered into the fray and began breaking men in two. Well, not literally, but things cracked. Men fell down. It wasn't pretty, and it was over in a few seconds. When it was done, the room was littered with broken bodies and few survivors.

  I got to my feet, then dropped back to the bed. The Beast was so close to the surface, I could feel the points of my teeth sharpening. I put my head in my hands and fought the urge to turn. What felt like an hour passed. When it was over, I looked up. I counted too many, more than I'd expected, between the bedroom and the room beyond. Red foam was running from their mouths and wounds.

  Vlad and Adam were standing over me, and they waited a moment before Adam put a ham-sized hand on my shoulder.

  "Wulfy. We need to talk."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  He took a seat on the bed next to me, and Vlad leaned against my dresser. We tried not to think about the elephant in the room - that is, several bleeding bodies. I tried not to think of the thing I needed to tell them about Manny.

  "We know about Manny." Vlad said. It's all in the timing.

  I hung my head, and a curse escaped my lips. Adam patted my shoulder. "We know you had to do it."

  "At least, we hope you did." Vlad said.

  I looked up. "How? To both."

  "Rain washed away the sand where you buried him. We found him on one of our walks. I was pretty pissed, ready to hang you from the nearest tree. Adam told me to wait. He was the one who saw the red in Manny's eyes. After the bum that attacked us, and your story, we knew what that meant."

  "What now?" I asked. My heart was beating somewhere in my shoes.

  Vlad sighed. "We give Manny a proper send-off when this is done. And you find a way to live with it."

  Adam shot him a look he pretended not to notice.

  Relief and shame flooded through me, and a thought followed on its heels.

  "How did you know I was in trouble?"

  "They came for us, too. We stopped them at the door, and came as quick as we could."

  "Shit." Me, being eloquent again. I scrubbed a hand through my hair. "We should probably check on Jekyll."

  They fell silent. I looked at them, back and forth for a minute. "What?" I asked.

  Adam cleared his throat. After a moment, Vlad spoke.

  "He was with them."

  "Wait. What?"

  "Well, Hyde was with them. It looked like he was standing in the back, directing them."

  "Shit." I said again.

  Adam nodded. "I told you. Boser hund."

  I was quiet while the few working cogs in my brain started to spin. Hyde must've figured somethin
g out about that red stuff. Something that was profitable for him in a way he couldn't turn his back on. Now I had a bull's-eye on my back, a bedroom full of dead drifters, and a score to settle. A second thought entered my head, and it alarmed me more than the first. I looked up, and panic must've shown on my face.

  "Henry."

  "What about him?" Vlad asked.

  "I had him working on what that red stuff might be. He's pretty sharp. Hyde might have figured that he'd work out a way for us to fight it."

  I stood, and searched for the pistol for a moment. It was hopeless in the tangle of bodies, and the pool of red gunk and blood on the floor. I stopped pacing, and Adam and Vlad stood.

  "Should we come with you?" Vlad asked.

  I shook my head as I stepped over the bodies on the way out. "No, if you can, do something about this mess. I wouldn't put it past Hyde to call the cops at this point."

  "What will you do?" Adam asked.

  I shrugged. "Stop Hyde. Save Henry. Barring that, kill Hyde, bury Henry."

  Adam winced. I shook my head. "Sorry buddy. Sometimes life sucks."

  I left them behind and headed out the front door toward the museum.

  *

  Rain again. The streets were dark, the moon shrouded behind clouds that gathered overhead like crows to carrion. Despite her absence, I could still sense her, Luna looking down, pulling at me. She would be full, pregnant in two days, and even now I felt the tug of the Beast like an inevitable tide. I forced the thought away and quickened my pace. Waxing poetic wasn't going to save Henry.

  Urgency caught at my heels, and I sprinted the last few hundred yards to the museum. I was soaking wet, the rain coming down hard and steady, and my breath coming in sharp bursts. I reached the steps of the museum and stopped. A figure was sitting on the steps, hair bedraggled by the rain, clothes plastered to her.

  I slowed to a walk, and Cora looked up as I approached. Her face was wet, and her eyes red. Not psycho-murderer red, but weeping-for-a-while red. A pistol dangled from her hand, and her face held more misery than someone that age should know. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and let out a humorless chuckle.