Wolf Hunt (Book 2)

by Jeff Strand

  "I'm telling you, there was something wrong with that guy."

  "So what? He has nothing to do with us. She said it was her dad's car. Do you want to get recaptured? Do you want to go to jail?"

  "I thought you were the one who was all concerned about her safety? You were the one who didn't want to kidnap her in the first place."

  "I know!" said Lou. "And maybe that's why I'm feeling less guilt about the whole thing than you are! We've taken her back home. We're done. It's completely insane to still be here."

  "As somebody who is teetering on the edge of insanity, I agree," said Eugene.

  "Here's what we're going to do," said George, driving past the house. "We're going to drive around for five minutes, only five, and then we're going to drive past her street one more time."

  "And what do we expect to see?" asked Lou.

  "One less car. Mr. Dewey drilled a hole in her ankle. They'd take her straight to the hospital, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "So if we drive by and both cars are still there, we can agree that it's suspicious, right?"

  "And then what? We walk up and knock on the door?"

  "If we have to. I just murdered a psychopathic crime lord. I'm not so concerned about a mom, a dad, and a creepy uncle."

  Lou shook his head. "No. This is stupid. I always go along with what you want, but we're in too much danger to hang around because of your gut. Eugene agrees with me. Let's go."

  "Eugene doesn't get a vote."

  "Well, I do. And I say we go."

  "All right."

  They drove in silence for a moment.

  "We're going back there in five minutes, aren't we?" asked Lou.

  "Yeah."

  "Why do you even ask my opinion on things?"

  * * *

  "Ally...?"

  Robyn wanted to rush over and embrace her, but she was unwelcome enough in this house as it was, and she didn't want to make things worse by being the first one to hug Ally.

  It was definitely the dress from the pictures, and it was torn as if the wearer had suddenly increased in size while it was on. No question about it—Ally was a werewolf.

  This was fantastic news.

  Robyn couldn't have children herself, a fact about which she occasionally found herself locked in the bathroom, silently weeping. Ally had always been somewhat cold toward her, for obvious reasons. But if she just found out she was a werewolf, she'd be scared, confused, and seeking help.

  Robyn would be there to help her.

  They'd become far closer than even blood relatives.

  Shane and Peggy came down the stairs. Peggy looked momentarily surprised to see Crabs standing there (did she even know who he was?) but then ran across the room and squeezed her daughter tight.

  "Oh, thank God!" she said, bursting into tears. "Thank God you're home!"

  "Who bruised you up?" asked Shane. "What happened to your foot? Who did that to you?"

  "I'll tell you everything, I promise," said Ally. "I'm not sure we're safe, though. Can you take me to the hospital?"

  "Of course, sweetheart, of course," said Peggy. "Let's go right now."

  "Who did it?" Shane demanded. "Describe them. Did one have a thick black beard?"

  Robyn almost let out a gasp. What was he doing? They couldn't talk about Lou and George right there in front of Peggy! There'd be plenty of time for questioning and vengeance later.

  "None of that matters right now," said Robyn. "All that matters is that Ally is safe."

  She opened the front door, and this time she did gasp.

  * * *

  Even though they were wearing facemasks, Ally recognized both of the men.

  One of them, who she recognized from his jacket, was a guy with red hair and cruel eyes. The other was the man formerly wearing a white snowsuit—the one George hadn't killed.

  The redhead pushed Robyn to the floor and pointed a gun at her. "Do not scream. Do not make a sound. If anybody tries anything, you're all dead, do you hear me?"

  The other man waved his gun around at the rest of them. "Did you hear him?"

  "Yes," said Robyn. "We hear you. We all hear you."

  "We're only here for the girl. Nobody else gets hurt."

  Dad stepped in front of Ally, shielding her with his body. "You're not going to get her."

  The redhead pulled the front door closed behind him. "We don't have time to dick around. If we have to drag her out of here past everyone else's dead bodies, that doesn't bother me a bit. There are four other men waiting in a truck right outside, so if you think you're going to get out of here, you're wrong."

  "I don't care if there are four hundred men waiting outside," said Dad. "You're not taking her. It's not going to happen. It's just not. So you can take your little toy guns and head right back to your trucks."

  The redhead laughed. "You're heroic as fuck, aren't you? If somebody pointed a gun at me, I'd let them take my daughter and throw in my baby son free of charge."

  "Just leave," said Dad.

  "Everybody except the girl, get down on the floor. Anybody who isn't on the floor in three seconds dies."

  "Please, don't!" said Ally, stepping out from behind Dad. "Don't hurt any of them. I'll go with you."

  "The hell you will," said Dad. "You know that we called the police as soon as Ally walked through the door, right? They're on their way. You're going to get caught either way, so do you want to get caught with a kidnapped girl in your truck?"

  "Her foot looks pretty bad," said the redhead. "I'm surprised you didn't call an ambulance, or tell the cops to meet you at the hospital. That's what I would've done."

  "I don't care what you would have done."

  "That's more than three seconds." He pointed his gun at Mom. "Why aren't you on the floor?"

  "Mom, get down," said Ally.

  Mom dropped to her knees.

  "Flat on the floor."

  Mom got all the way down.

  "So that's one of you who doesn't die today." The redhead pointed his gun at Robyn. "You, down all the way."

  Robyn also lay stomach-down on the floor, though she was leaning up enough to continue to watch the men.

  The man in the bulletproof vest jabbed the barrel of his gun into Crabs' chest. "Why aren't you down yet? What are you, simple? Got nothing to live for?"

  "I live in the moment."

  Now the redhead pointed his gun back at Dad. "You're going to force me to make some noise, huh?"

  Dad nodded. "I'm surprised you didn't invest in silencers."

  And then, just like that, all at once, Dad transformed.

  His clothes split apart, his body grew, and fur sprouted from his flesh like time-lapse photography of a plant growing. Within seconds, the process was complete.

  It didn't matter that Ally had suspected that her own powers were inherited. Seeing that Dad was an actual werewolf surprised the hell out of her.

  Mom shrieked.

  The redhead shot Dad in the chest.

  "Silver bullet, asshole," he said.

  Dad walked toward him, snarling.

  The redhead frowned. "Silver bullet, right?" he asked, looking over at his partner. "Weren't these supposed to be silver bullets?"

  He shot Dad three more times before Dad stood right in front of him.

  And now...wait, Crabs was a werewolf, too?

  And Robyn?

  The redhead dropped his gun.

  * * *

  Brent glanced over at the house at the sound of the gunshot. "Idiots couldn't get her without shooting somebody," he muttered. "I told you we should've gone."

  Sean stuck a couple of fingers under his facemask and scratched his neck. "Should we go in?"

  Brent shook his head. "Not quite yet. Maybe they just killed her mother."

  "You should go in after them," said Mr. Reith, who sat in the back seat.

  "We don't know what's happening in there. There's no need to panic just because we heard one shot."

  "I am your boss now," s
aid Mr. Reith. "And I say that the girl is still extremely valuable, and that if we lose her again, I will take all of my anger out on you."

  "What are you gonna do, whack me with your cane? I worked for Mr. Dewey, not you. You're lucky your old slow ass is even in here with us."

  "That's a very foolish attitude."

  Three more gunshots came from inside the house, one after the other.

  Sean scratched his neck again. "Damn it."

  "All right, now we'll go in," said Brent. He looked back at that short little shit Glenn, who sat next to Mr. Reith. "All three of us, let's go."

  Under other circumstances, Brent would've left Sean or Glenn here, in the driver's seat in case they needed to make a quick getaway. But he didn't know Mr. Reith, and didn't trust him not to order the driver to speed off if things got crazy.

  "Sean will remain here," said Mr. Reith, apparently reading his mind.

  Brent shook his head. "Nope. Sorry." He didn't care if Mr. Dewey respected that shriveled old fossil; Brent had no idea who the hell he even was, and until Mr. Reith coughed up some credentials, Brent wasn't going to let him decide the course of action in a dangerous situation like this.

  Brent took the keys with him as he, Sean, and Glenn got out of the truck and ran toward the house.

  * * *

  The redhead let out a soft whimper.

  Dad looked over his shoulder at Ally and gave her the most frightening smile she'd ever seen, including scary dolls and clowns.

  He swung his clawed hand all the way back, as if preparing to deliver a knockout punch, and then bashed it into the side of the redhead's skull.

  His head didn't come off, completely. The blow ripped off most of the skin from his ear to his chin, snapped his neck, exposed most of his throat, and caused his head to flop to the side, but it remained attached.

  That was not true after the second blow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  An Untidy Home

  Ally and Mom both screamed.

  Ally was glad the man was dead, but as when George had killed the men in the woods, she didn't like seeing it happen right in front of her. And watching Dad do it, even if he wasn't recognizable as her father right now, was far worse.

  Dad grabbed the headless body before it fell and hoisted it into the air, letting blood rain down upon his fur. Then he flung the body against the staircase, snarling as the redhead's spine snapped.

  This was not simply a case of "kill or be killed." Dad had enjoyed that murder. Loved it. Unlike Ally, he could control when he changed, but like her, he apparently couldn't control his bloodlust when he was in wolf form.

  The other man fired a shot at Crabs, then he fired another shot at Robyn, then another shot at Crabs, and then before he could squeeze off a fourth shot they were both upon him. He didn't last long.

  By the time the man landed on the floor, it was obvious that he stood no chance whatsoever of surviving, but that didn't stop Crabs from shoving his elongated mouth deep into the man's now-skinless stomach and slurping up a treat. Then he dug in with his jaws and pulled away, stretching something thick and red until it snapped.

  He swallowed whatever it was, then reached in with his claws, scooping up a handful of something else and flinging it at Dad. Dad batted it away with his paw, knocking it to the floor in a thin red mist.

  A food fight. Crabs and Dad were having a food fight.

  Ally wanted nothing more than to pass out. Instead, she screamed some more.

  * * *

  "Dammit!" George shouted, as three men hurried toward the house. They were all wearing facemasks, but he could tell who they were: Sean, Brent, and the short guy with the thick sideburns. Checking up on Ally was just supposed to be a token gesture!

  The men immediately split up: Sean running to the front door, Brent to a window, and the short guy around the back of the house.

  "They're doing this fast and messy," said Lou. "We need to just run right in after them and take 'em out."

  George nodded. "I totally agree."

  Sean went inside, gun raised, leaving the door open behind him.

  "Is there anything I can do?" asked Eugene from the back.

  "Yeah, you can be our getaway driver."

  "Is there anything else I can do? My hands aren't equipped for driving anymore."

  George stopped directly in front of Ally's house. "If anybody comes out and it's not us, scare the shit out of them." He put the van into park. "No offense."

  "None taken."

  George and Lou got out of the van and rushed to the front door.

  * * *

  Desmond Reith remained hunched over until George and Lou went inside. At his age, ducking down like this was not an easy process, and if the thugs had bothered to pay attention they probably would have seen him back here. But they didn't.

  The sound of more gunshots came from the house.

  Desmond smiled. He didn't know what exactly was happening inside, but he liked the idea that Ally might have changed into her true form and started slaughtering Mr. Dewey's former employees. The men had chuckled amongst themselves when Mr. Dewey handed out the silver bullets. They wouldn't be laughing now, since of course Mr. Dewey had been lying to them. He couldn't risk having one of those idiots kill Ally.

  Poor delusional Dewey Decimal. The man who believed that he could turn himself into a werewolf. Sorry, Dewey Decimal—even if George hadn't blown your tiny brain out, you couldn't change. You were either born a werewolf or you weren't. Getting bit by one meant nothing.

  Desmond hadn't planned for Dewey to die, but it didn't bother him. He'd already served his purpose by unwittingly thumbing his nose at the Wolves. It was probably best for him that he'd received a relatively painless bullet to the head.

  Brent had left him in the truck without keys, like a child. How helpless did he think Desmond really was? Desmond had never made a legal dollar in his life. Did Brent think that he couldn't hotwire a truck and leave him behind?

  * * *

  George stepped through the doorway, and immediately took a bucket of blood to the face.

  Not from a literal bucket, but the quantity of blood that splashed over him was just like if somebody had flung a bucket's worth at him. It took him a moment to blink it out of his eyes, and when he did he saw that both of Sean's arms had been torn off. In fact, his shoulders were gone, too.

  Ally had changed again.

  No, wait, she hadn't. She was huddled on the floor with an older blonde woman. George was looking at a different werewolf.

  Two different...three different werewolves.

  Shit.

  The werewolf closest to George, which was the largest of the three, cocked its head to the side as it saw him. It dropped Sean's not-dead body to the floor, pointed at George, and then beckoned.

  George felt that, all things considered, it would be in his best interest to decline that invitation.

  Instead of wasting any bullets on these hell beasts that were almost certainly invulnerable, he spun right the fuck around, almost knocking Lou over.

  He felt a clawed hand on the back of his jacket, and suddenly he was flying across the living room, not actually in mid-air but without anywhere near as much foot-carpet contact as he'd like. He fell to the floor before he struck the wall.

  Seconds later, Lou joined him.

  The biggest werewolf pointed to Sean's body, then leapt as high into the air as it could without hitting the ceiling. It curled into a ball, and landed with all four feet, claws extended, directly on Sean's torso. Then it jerked its arms and legs far apart, scattering Sean to both sides.

  This was clearly done for George and Lou's benefit.

  Where the hell were the police? A neighbor had to have called the police, right? There were gunshots and screaming and stuff; help had to be on the way!

  Sean was unmistakably dead now. George fondly remembered the time when Sean had been one of the larger problems in his life.

  Brent burst into the living room f
rom whatever room he'd snuck into in the back. His presumed plan to open fire was abandoned as he saw the three werewolves and the condition of his buddy's body.

  From the scraps of clothing that hung off his body, one of the werewolves was the creepy guy who'd been waiting in the car. He did a menacing walk across the room toward where George and Lou lay, but didn't pounce. He just watched them, grinning, as if daring them to try to get away.

  The third werewolf, who was either a woman or a man who'd been wearing a bra, was standing in front of Ally and her mother. George couldn't tell if it was trying to protect them, or just save them for last.

  Since George had tried to turn and run a mere few moments ago, he didn't judge Brent for doing the same. It wasn't cowardly to flee from a situation where you were completely screwed. Brent made it maybe three steps. His next few steps just consisted of frantic kicking as the largest werewolf lifted him into the air, holding him by the back of the neck with one hand.

  The werewolf turned so that Brent was facing George and Lou, and then raked the talons of its free hand down Brent's body, opening him up from just below his neck to his waist, shaking his body so that more would spill out.

  Then it did it again.

  And once more.

  The werewolf jiggled Brent around like a ragdoll, then snapped him over his knee. It was the first time George had ever seen an exposed spinal column.

  A window broke in another room.

  The werewolf guarding George and Lou ran out of the living room to investigate. For a split second George considered shouting out a warning to the short guy, then decided that there was no compelling reason to do that.

  On one hand, George was happy to not be dead yet. The murders of Sean and Brent were clearly meant to terrify him and imply that he and Lou were next on the mangling block. He didn't know why Mr. Dewey's men were considered more disposable, but George was glad of it. On the other hand, it was very likely that he and Lou were being saved for a much worse fate.

  With Sean and Brent dead, and the short guy probably soon to meet his demise, George decided that it didn't make sense to save rounds that could, if his aim was perfect and the werewolf wasn't expecting him to suddenly shoot, take out an eye or two.