Wolf Hunt (Book 2)

by Jeff Strand

  "I saw stuff about it on Facebook. It wasn't all covered up, at least. People just didn't believe the whole story."

  "What did they think happened?"

  Ally shrugged. "I don't remember everything. Insane guy in a wolf mask, I think."

  George would have buried his face in his hands if they weren't locked behind his back. "Insane guy in a wolf mask. Jesus Christ."

  "Makes more sense than the real story."

  "Still..."

  "I bet if you checked there are probably like eight billion conspiracy theory sites about it. I think his body disappeared from a Chuck E. Cheese or something before the police got there."

  "It was a bowling alley."

  "Oh."

  "His body disappeared?"

  "Yeah."

  Weird. "So, any idea how this happened to you? Are you any relation to Ivan Spinner?"

  "No."

  "Uncle? Cousin?"

  "I know my uncles and cousins."

  "I meant second uncles or second cousins. I don't know the full names of all my relatives. There could be some connection."

  "I have no idea how it happened," said Ally. "Maybe I got bit but I didn't notice because I was too busy texting."

  George smiled. "Could be. You kids today."

  Ally sighed. "Mom won't even let me have a cell phone. I'm going to die without my own cell phone."

  The van stopped. George peeked up front, and for a split second he looked extremely worried. Then, as if noticing that Ally was watching him, he smiled again.

  "What?" Ally asked.

  "Nothing."

  "No, what?"

  "This is where they gave Lou and I the assignment in the first place."

  "Is that bad?"

  "All of the scenarios are bad, unless the driver is a double agent and is secretly on our side." George raised his voice, addressing the driver. "Hey, are you a double agent who's secretly on our side?"

  "Nope."

  "Didn't think so." He looked back at Ally. "This warehouse is where I talked to both Mr. Dewey and Mr. Reith. I was kind of hoping we'd only have to mess with one of them."

  "Oh."

  "It's okay, though. Stay calm. We'll be fine."

  Ally tried to stay calm. The van pulled forward, then turned and stopped. The driver turned off the engine. Both of the men got out.

  "Is there anything else I should know?" asked Ally. Her whole body, and her voice, was quivering.

  "Just be polite."

  The rear door of the van opened.

  "They're all yours," said the driver, stepping out of the way.

  A very old man, the oldest man Ally had ever seen in real life, was standing there. He looked as if he were going to topple over, despite his cane.

  "Hello, Mr. Reith," said George.

  "Hello, George," said the old man. There was no trace of amusement in his voice. Not only was he the oldest person Ally had ever seen, but she'd never seen anybody who was so filled with rage. He looked like his withered skin might split apart, releasing streams of lava.

  "I know we ended on bad terms."

  "Do not speak, George," said Mr. Reith. "Do not say a single word. If you do, I will have you immediately killed. Not one word."

  George apparently believed him. He kept his mouth closed and just gave a small nod.

  Another man stepped into view. He was significantly younger than Mr. Reith, though still older than Ally's dad. He looked more relieved than angry to see them.

  "Good to see you again, George. Don't greet me—I wouldn't want you to die just to be polite." The man looked directly at Ally and broke into a huge, scary grin. "And you're Ally."

  "Yes, sir."

  "We're going to be very good friends, Ally. I'm Mr. Dewey." He winked at her. "Like the decimal system."

  Ally had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn't say anything.

  Mr. Dewey gestured to the two men in snowsuits. "Chain her up. We're going to start right away. Drag Lou in there too, in case we need to feed her something."

  "Got it," said the driver. "And George...?"

  "We'll let George see his future. Put him in the room with Eugene."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Slaughter

  This was a bad idea. A bad, bad, bad idea.

  Robyn was angry about the kidnapping, too. Furious. Ally was a great kid, if understandably hostile toward Robyn herself, and Shane would die for her. But rushing off to Tropper like this, completely unprepared, was not the way to handle it.

  Not that Shane would ever listen to her.

  He'd offered to drive. Yeah, right. Like she'd let that happen. No better way to spend your evening than speeding down the highway and suddenly having your car driven by a wolfman, right?

  At least she didn't have to sit next to Crabs.

  He was in the back seat, doing what he did best: staring ahead creepily. He was thirty-five or thirty-six but looked sixty. The pale freak didn't look like a single ray of sunshine had ever touched his skin; did he think he was a vampire instead? He liked to have a few days' worth of stubble, even though his facial hair grew in weird patches. He never stopped sweating. When she was introduced to him, Robyn had desperately hoped that Crabs' nickname had come from some sort of family business on a seaport, but, no, it was from a college experience with a prostitute.

  She didn't even know his real name. He called himself Crabs, as if he was proud to let the world know that a hooker had accepted his money instead of recoiling in disgust. It was probably on his W-2.

  Robyn didn't know of any other werewolves anywhere close to them, but even so, she would never hang out with him if she had any choice in the matter. His presence in her life was almost a deal breaker in her relationship with Shane...but the werewolf sex was sooooo good, and she couldn't get that anyplace else.

  Crabs had once made a comment (not a joke—Crabs didn't make jokes) about sharing her with Shane, and she'd calmly but firmly informed him that if he ever put that image in her mind again, she would rip his balls off. She wouldn't transform first; she'd just do it with her human fingernails.

  He'd offered to just watch instead.

  She hated Crabs.

  "What are you doing?" she asked Shane.

  "I'm not doing anything."

  "You're tearing the seat. Put your hand back to normal."

  "It's not 'normal,' it's—"

  "It's human. I get it. Stop ruining our car."

  "Possessions or sanity," said Crabs from the back seat. "Only one can be pristine."

  Shane ran his taloned index finger across the seat, just an inch or so, as if to send the message that he'd tear the car seat whenever he felt like it, then changed his hand back to human.

  "I need to stop."

  "Why?" Robyn asked.

  Shane just looked at her.

  "Honey, no."

  "I need to blow off some steam or I'm going to lose it."

  "We've only been driving for half an hour."

  "The amount of time that we have been driving is not relevant," said Shane, emphasizing every syllable, the way he spoke to Robyn's mother in the nursing home. "I need to get this out of my system, and unless you want to be the prey, you'll stop being difficult."

  "Don't threaten me."

  "I wasn't threatening you."

  "That was a treat."

  "I apologize, then," said Shane. "But I'm headed for a complete meltdown, and I need ten minutes to unleash this, or I'm going to go batshit crazy right here in this car."

  "Intercourse is relaxing," said Crabs.

  "What about Ally?" asked Robyn.

  "Ten minutes," said Shane. "The next exit—no, the one right after that. There's a homeless shelter."

  "You've used that shelter before."

  "Not in six months."

  "Four months."

  "What difference does it make? Do you think they have high-tech surveillance equipment at a homeless shelter? One of the bums there can have an extra serving of soup tonig
ht, thanks to us."

  "Bum meat is flavorful," said Crabs.

  "All right, all right," said Robyn. "But you have to promise me that it'll be quick. And Crabs doesn't get to help."

  "Why not?"

  "Because he takes too long and makes too much of a mess."

  "Crabs, can you make it quick?"

  "Unknown."

  "Guess it's me alone then," said Shane. He reached over and caressed Robyn's knee. "Thank you. I really appreciate this."

  * * *

  Six or seven homeless people were standing outside of the shelter, smoking, when Robyn drove up to the building.

  "Look at that," said Shane. "If they can afford cigarettes, they should be able to afford food. Someone who doesn't care about their lungs doesn't deserve to breathe through them, right?"

  "Just pick one," said Robyn.

  Shane reviewed his selection. "The guy on the left. He looks the horniest."

  "He looks mentally ill."

  "So?"

  "So he might be unpredictable."

  "Whatever makes you comfortable. How about the one in the orange jacket?"

  "Too healthy. He'd put up a fight."

  "You choose, then."

  "The meth head."

  "Which one?"

  Robyn pointed. "Brown jacket and mismatched gloves."

  "Ah. Good choice. Let's go."

  Robyn turned back to face Crabs. "Stay in the car."

  "I will. It has your scent."

  Acknowledging his sick comments was never a good idea, so Robyn ignored him and got out of the car. She and Shane walked over to the huddle of vagrants. She tapped the one in the brown jacket on the shoulder.

  "Wanna job?" she asked.

  "Doing what?" He had more teeth than she'd expected, though the front ones all looked as if they'd been outlined with a thin black magic marker.

  "Over here. It's private."

  Without waiting for him to respond, she and Shane walked about twenty feet away. The vagrant followed, looking uncertain.

  "I don't have time to do a long pitch, so here's the deal: we run a porn site where guys like you get to have sex with girls like me. We'll pay you a hundred bucks, blur your face, and give you a packet of the good stuff for your trouble. Sound okay?"

  "I...I...I'm not sure I can..."

  "We'll let you pop a Viagra on the way."

  "I really get to fuck you?"

  "Please don't use the f-word, but yes." Robyn opened her purse, reached inside, and took out a pair of twenties. "Forty now. The rest after you get off. Are we cool?"

  The vagrant vigorously nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  She and Shane began to walk toward their car. "Come on, then. Get in the backseat. Don't talk to the man back there."

  Crabs scooted over obligingly as Shane opened the back door.

  "Who's he?" the vagrant asked.

  "Sound guy."

  "I don't know..."

  "Get in or not. Doesn't matter to us. We can go right back and pick someone else."

  The vagrant got into the car.

  "Thank you for this," said Shane to Robyn before they got back inside.

  Typically they did this at least three or four highway exits from where they picked up the prey, but this one reeked even more than usual and Robyn needed him out of the car before she threw up.

  There were a few good desolated spots where they could lead somebody off to the slaughter. Robyn picked the park. Even in the middle of summer, this park was usually abandoned, thanks to the rusty slide and the swings that looked like they might snap off if an even moderately overweight child sat on them. In the winter, Robyn and Shane could be pretty much guaranteed that nobody would see them even walk past the teeter-totter, much less what was going to happen in the wooded area beyond the park.

  Sometimes their prey didn't figure out the real deal until right before things started to go badly for them. This particular vagrant was slightly smarter, and he hesitated as soon as they parked the car.

  "We're doing it here?" he asked, warily.

  "No," said Robyn. "Past the trees."

  "Kinda cold."

  "Yes. And?"

  "I didn't think it was going to be outside."

  "Well, now you know."

  "Nah, nah, this isn't...I don't wanna do this. I want to go back."

  "Afraid of being cold? Don't you live outside most of the time? What's the problem?"

  "I don't want to do this."

  "Why not?"

  "I just don't."

  "Do you think we're going to harm you?"

  The vagrant said nothing.

  "Do you think we're going to kill you?" Robyn asked.

  "I don't know."

  "You know."

  "Please don't hurt me."

  Robyn looked over at Shane. "So are you going to gag him or what?"

  "In a minute. Let him sweat a little longer."

  "What about your daughter?"

  For a split second Shane looked as if he wanted to tear Robyn apart instead of the vagrant, but then he nodded. "You're right, you're right."

  Shane got out of the car and then opened the door to the back seat. There was a struggle, though not much of one, before he got the gag on the vagrant and dragged him outside.

  "You stay in the car," Robyn told Crabs. "I mean it."

  "I take orders."

  Robyn got out of the car. Shane and the vagrant had only gone about ten feet before he stopped. "What about Crabs?"

  "I told him to stay in the car."

  "No, let him watch." Shane raised his voice. "Come on out, Crabs. You don't want to miss the show."

  Robyn sighed. It wasn't even worth arguing, despite the sheer stupidity of this whole venture. She completely understood these primal needs, but if you were going to drop everything (including, possibly, your gainful employment) to rescue your daughter, shouldn't she be the priority?

  The vagrant was sobbing, and he kept stumbling, though at least Shane didn't have to literally drag him by his feet, which sometimes happened.

  Once they were out of sight of anybody who might drive by the park, Shane punched the vagrant in the stomach, really hard, doubling him over.

  Then he changed.

  And that was why Robyn stuck with him despite all of his many flaws. He was a fine looking man as a human, but as a wolf...dear lord. Thick black fur. Muscles everywhere. Golden eyes that almost seemed to glow.

  Yeah, she fantasized about doing Johnny Depp or Michael Fassbender, but neither of them could compare to the scorching hot male specimen standing right in front of her.

  Shane usually gave the prey a few moments to think about the situation they had suddenly found themselves in, but this time, Shane just bit off his thumb.

  The vagrant shrieked as loudly as one can shriek when their mouth is covered by a thick ball gag.

  Shane bit off the remaining fingers of his left hand, one at a time. Of course, he could've chomped off the entire hand in one bite, but he never did. Part of the reason was that it was simply more fun to bite off individual fingers instead of an entire hand, but also, there'd been a time that Shane bit off somebody's hand and almost swallowed it before Robyn screamed her warning that the victim had been wearing a silver wedding band. Silver dissolved their kind from the inside. He'd been understandably paranoid since then.

  Shane bit off all of the fingers on the vagrant's right hand, laughing a wolfish laugh as ten gouts of blood sprayed everywhere.

  Crabs watched, breathing heavily. As always, he looked like he wanted to start playing with himself. The pervert probably would, if he didn't know that Robyn would freak out.

  Shane slid one of his talons across the vagrant's neck, slowly, deep enough to trace a thin red line but not enough for blood to spurt.

  Then, the time for subtlety apparently over, he slashed his claws across the vagrant's upper thigh, taking out a huge chunk. The vagrant clutched at his wound as he tumbled to the ground.

  Shane couldn't talk
as a wolf, so he switched back to human to say, "You like that? How'd that feel, huh? How'd that feel?"

  He actually didn't need to do a full transformation to speak, but having a human head on a wolf-man body looked ridiculous.

  He kicked the vagrant in the stomach. When the vagrant moved his hand to grab his stomach, Shane kicked his leg wound. "Feels good, huh? Feels nice? Having a good time? Way better than a porno shoot, huh?"

  Shane transformed back, and then went absolutely berserk on the vagrant's leg, slashing it apart, strip by strip, until there was more bone visible than flesh.

  The vagrant remained conscious. Robyn was impressed.

  "You like that?" asked Shane, human again. "Like that, faggot? Like seeing the inside of your leg?" Shane waved over at Crabs. "C'mon, Crabs, get over here! It's not fair for me to have all the fun!"

  Crabs glanced at Robyn, as if asking permission. Robyn shook her head. Crabs ignored her and hurried over to the fallen vagrant.

  "Let's wishbone him!" Shane said. "C'mon, he's still got a good leg! Let's wishbone him!"

  Crabs transformed. He looked even worse as a werewolf than he did as a human, with his greasy fur, bony arms, and a hairless tail that made him look more like a giant rat than a wolf.

  Shane took one of the vagrant's arms, while Crabs took his good leg. They lifted the thrashing vagrant off the ground, then tugged.

  Last time, they'd been disappointed when the victim came apart at the waist. This vagrant played by the rules, and his arm ripped off. Shane let him drop, then tossed the arm victoriously into the air. After it landed, he picked it up again, bit off the rest of the hand at the wrist, swallowed, then tossed it to Crabs, who took a generous bite for himself.

  Shane changed to human yet again. He wiped the blood off his mouth and clapped his hands together. "Let's burn him! C'mon, let's set him on fire!"

  "Shane, we have to get going!" said Robyn.

  "Let's burn him! Let's watch his skin turn black! C'mon, Crabs, you've got a lighter, right?"

  Crabs, still a werewolf, shook his head.

  "Robyn...?"

  "Why would I have a lighter?"