by Jeff Strand
"I do, yeah, but I can't just show up at their doorstep like this. They'd scream and hit me with something. That's what I'd do, if somebody like me just showed up after dark on my front porch. I'd set him on fire. Whoooosh, buuuuurn, crisp, crisp, crisp." Eugene cleared his throat. "I feel like I act more sane when you're acting insane. Maybe you should act more insane."
"Look, I apologized for what I said earlier, but I can't have you going whack-nut on me. I may be getting out of town, or I may be going Charles Bronson. Are you coming with me, or am I getting rid of you?"
"Which do you recommend?"
"Me getting rid of you. Because I'll be honest—right now I'm leaning less toward self-preservation and more toward revenge."
"I'm going to stay. Not trying to be contrary; I just think that, right now, I don't want to have to explain myself to anybody else."
"It's your funeral," said George. "And by that I mean a shallow grave with no funeral."
"I'll take it."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Romantic Interlude
The driver of the red sedan was not blonde, attractive, or even female. He was, in fact, a potbellied loser with dull, intelligence-free eyes. But he'd pulled over when Robyn waved to him from the side of the road, and he'd been fun to kill even if he was unpleasant to look at.
Ally had shouted out a warning to the poor bastard, even though Crabs was supposed to be keeping her under control, and she totally freaked after Shane tore out his heart. Okay, after Shane exposed his heart—it didn't actually rip out like he'd hoped.
So now she was in the trunk. Too bad.
They'd changed into their last set of spare clothes, then rubbed snow on their arms and faces and gotten off the most noticeable of the blood. If anybody looked at them up close or in the light, they'd know something was weird, but driving around they should be okay. To help even more, Shane was currently lying in the back seat, so that people would only see a man and a woman in the car, not two men and a woman.
Crabs had his window down, which Shane supposed was kind of suspicious in Minnesota in November, but not enough that people would point and scream, "Werewolves!"
"Keep driving in a straight line," said Crabs.
"Are you positive?" Robyn asked.
"I'd bet on me."
"That's not what I'm asking. If we're putting ourselves at this much risk, I need you to be positive."
Crabs said nothing.
"Should I take that as a no?"
"The science of smell is not exact."
"Then we're not doing this. How are you even smelling anything but your own blood? We're done. George and Lou will still be there to kill some other time."
"She's right," said Shane. "Abort."
"That would be a mistake."
"Then where are they?" asked Robyn.
"Close."
"How close?"
"Sixty seconds."
Shane sat up. "Seriously?"
Crabs inhaled deeply. "Yes."
"They're off the beaten path. But not far off. If we give up now, our lives will be a thick ocean of regret."
"What is a thick...you know what, I don't even care," said Robyn. "Just tell me where to go."
"Turn right when you can. Not that one. The next one."
Robyn turned right. There were no streetlights on this small, narrow road, but the tire tracks in the snow indicated that, yes, somebody had driven down here recently.
They passed a small brown home. A dog chained on the front porch barked at them.
"I hate dogs," Shane muttered. Some werewolves could control them, but it wasn't a skill that he, Robyn, or Crabs had ever been able to figure out.
They drove for another minute before they got to the next house. Shane kind of liked it out here. Secluded. They could do a lot of stuff without worrying about the neighbors seeing them. He'd have to look into property prices in this area.
"There," said Crabs.
He was right. The van with the bullet holes was parked in the driveway.
Shane laughed. "See? Why would anybody ever doubt your gift?"
Robyn pulled up right behind the van. Its engine was off. There were no lights on but it looked like somebody might be sitting in the front passenger seat.
"Think it's a trap?" Robyn asked.
"How would they know we're following them?" Shane asked. "Nah, they're probably ditching their vehicle just like we did. They could already be long gone."
"No," said Crabs.
Ally, inside the trunk, began to pound or kick on the lid again. It was annoying as hell, but Shane would do the same thing in her place, so he couldn't really blame her.
"Robyn and I will check out the van, and then the house. You stay here. Make sure nothing happens to Ally."
"May I quiet her down?"
"No. You may not. Don't open the trunk."
Shane and Robyn got out of the car and cautiously approached the van. Shane peeked in through the back window. There was a large, empty metal cage in there.
Those sons of bitches had put Ally in a cage.
Shane's rage did not blind him to the fact that his daughter was currently locked in the trunk of a car. But that was different. It was for her own good. There was something symbolic about a cage that pissed him off to a degree that he couldn't even describe.
"Hey," said Robyn. "Come up here."
"What is it?"
"It's Lou Flynn. He's dead."
"Are you sure?"
"Look at him."
Shane peeked through the window. "He could be faking." Shane opened the door, transformed his right hand into a werewolf claw, then raked his talons across Lou's neck a few times. "Or not."
"So where's George?" asked Robyn. "Do you think he'd leave his friend behind?"
Shane shrugged. "They're not really honorable men."
"Looks like two sets of footprints leading to the house. Was anybody else with them?"
"Not that I know of."
"Maybe Lou walked to the house, then came back here before he died. No, there'd be blood on the ground. We'd better be careful when we check it out."
Shane and Robyn walked toward the house. It had a nice big yard, but the home itself was a dumpy little one-story hovel that was desperately in need of a new coat of paint.
The front door opened.
Shane froze, ready if necessary to transform and pounce.
Somebody walked out of the house.
Shane squinted, not sure exactly what he was seeing. "What the hell is that thing?"
"I have no idea."
The...thing waved as he walked toward them. The fact that he was in a pair of boxer shorts in Minnesota in November was the least weird thing about him. He kind of looked half-human and half-wolf, but the wolf parts were badly stitched onto him. One of his ears looked like it was going to fall off. He was a complete mess.
"Stop," said Shane. "Don't come any closer."
The man blinked in surprise. "Sorry. I assumed I was the one in danger, not you. I won't make any sudden moves. It hurts me to move anyway."
"Get down on the ground."
"Come on, show some heart. I'm freezing to death. There's no reason to be antagonistic. We're all werewolves here, right?"
Shane walked closer to the man. Robyn followed. "What do you mean, we're all werewolves?"
"I was there for the massacre. George and Lou had me in a cage. Didn't you see me? No, I suppose you didn't, or you'd remember me. One of the few things I have going for me is that I'm memorable."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Why are you playing stupid? We're werewolves! We're supposed to be brothers!" He gestured to Robyn. "And sisters! Brothers and sisters! Family! We're all family! Maybe whoever is pounding inside of your trunk is family, too!"
"You're not my family," said Shane. "I'd have put you in a garbage bag and thrown you in the Dumpster."
"There's no reason to be cruel," said the man. "My name's Eugene." He tapped his fore
head, where the word 'WOLF' was carved. "Look what they did to me! Marked me! Sliced me! Mixed and matched parts that didn't go together!" He began to weep. "They messed me up so badly that I can't even morph anymore! I can't morph! Can you imagine how empty your life would be if you couldn't morph?"
"So what happened to you, exactly?" Shane asked.
"Lou and George captured me. Threw a net on me while I was leaving my house. Took me to a lab. Told me that I was being 'modified' to get the werewolfism out of me. Took away my dignity. Look at what those butchers did to me!" Eugene held out his arms and turned completely around in a slow circle.
"Is that a tongue on your back?" asked Robyn.
Eugene nodded. "There was no scientific merit to what they did. They just wanted to humiliate me!"
"Where is George now?"
"He stole a car and left."
"Leaving you behind?"
"His friend died. I think it hit him pretty hard. Good riddance, I say. They were both evil. I'm not saying that I haven't killed in my wolf state—I have, lots of times. But that's all instinct. These guys are just demons."
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know."
"What kind of car is he in?"
"Blue. Light blue."
"What model?"
"I don't know cars very well. One of those small ones. The boxy ones. From those commercials. Do you mind if I go back inside? As you can see pretty clearly, I'm not dressed for the weather, and I don't think I can handle getting frostbite on top of everything else that's wrong with me."
Shane punched Eugene in the jaw, knocking him to the ground.
"No, you may not go inside yet. I feel like you're holding out on me, man. That's not very nice to a fellow werewolf."
"What more do you need to know?" Eugene wailed. "George thinks he's some big werewolf hunter! He wants to kill us all! Wipe us off the face of the earth!"
"George and Lou are hired guns."
Eugene frantically shook his head. "No way. Maybe that's how it is on paper, but you didn't hear them talk. George is on some kind of holy quest, I swear I'm not making that up, the guy isn't right in the head. He wants us all in pieces floating in jars!"
"Your ear looks like I could pluck it right off."
"You don't have to be disrespectful like that," said Eugene. "I'm trying to share information with you."
Shane almost kicked him in the head to see how many teeth he could knock out, but, no, until they figured out what was going on, he should keep Eugene alive. Then he'd kick out his teeth. Shane didn't care if he was a fellow werewolf (and he seriously doubted it). Eugene was weak. Shane hated weakness.
Shane looked back at his new car. "Hey, Crabs!"
He heard the door open, and then Crabs walked up. Crabs wouldn't have been able to see Eugene with the van blocking his view, but he had no particular reaction to seeing him, as if he encountered people who looked like Eugene on a daily basis.
"Take a whiff. Is George still around?"
Crabs closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Yes."
"Good. Go check out the house."
Crabs nodded and stepped forward. Robyn held up her hand.
"No. Crabs, you make sure Eugene doesn't go anywhere. Shane and I will check the house."
Shane thought that was kind of odd, but he didn't care who did what as long as somebody went in there to flush out George, if the chickenshit was hiding.
"Don't you dare open the trunk," said Robyn.
"Your trust in me will be validated."
Shane and Robyn walked over to the house. It could still be a trap, but what kind of trap could George set with so little time? Was this his winter home where he kept a stockpile of silver bullets? Just to be safe, Shane changed right after opening the door. Robyn did so as well, and they walked inside.
The inside of the house showed a little more self-respect than the outside, but still, there was plenty they could do to fix it up. When wallpaper starts to peel, you glue it back up or replace it. This wasn't brain surgery.
The TV was off. The house was silent. There was a bit of melting snow on the inside doormat, but that could have come from Eugene's feet.
"What do you think?" asked Shane, after they both changed back.
"Let's check out the bedroom," said Robyn.
"Seriously?" Shane was delighted. "Is that why we're here?"
"It's going to be fast and dirty," Robyn told him. "I can't wait anymore or I'm going to lose my mind. I'm giving you permission to be quick."
"What if George sees?"
"Then he'll get a nice little show that he can tell his friend about. Oops, no, his friend is dead. George isn't in here. And if he is, we'll search when we're done." She walked over to the king-sized bed. "Remember: quick."
"But not too quick."
"I promise you I'll finish first."
Shane stepped up behind her. "As wolves, right?"
"Of course as wolves! Why would you even ask that? Why would I take this kind of risk if we weren't going to—"
"All right, all right, relax. I was just making sure."
Shane bent Robyn over the bed, and then they both transformed.
* * *
George, watching through the slots in the closet door, thought, They're not really going to have werewolf sex right there, are they?
Yes, they were indeed.
No foreplay. No lube. Within seconds of changing, Shane was thrusting away inside of her, while she snarled and writhed and ripped up the blanket with her claws.
Though George was all in favor of getting right down to business, this looked painful. It was the grossest thing he'd seen in a day that had been filled with one gross thing after another, but he couldn't look away.
Right now, Lou was lucky to be dead.
To make things even more awkward, George was sharing this closet with Tom and Betsy, an elderly couple who'd been kind enough to let an injured man into their home. They couldn't see what was happening and didn't know that there were werewolves involved, but they did know that there was violent fornicating happening right on the other side of their closet door, on their bed, and they both looked suitably horrified and appalled.
George hoped like hell that they wouldn't make any noise, although he was uncertain that he'd be able to remain silent himself if this nightmare didn't stop soon.
Robyn climaxed, unless she was faking it at an extremely high volume.
Shane followed immediately. He did it internally, thank Christ, or George would have reached up, grabbed a coat hanger, straightened out the hook, and used it to stab his eyes. In fact, if they didn't quiet down in the next few seconds, he might use one to pop his eardrums.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Eyeball Bleach
George couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Robyn changed back into a human before Shane withdrew. This was not information he wished to acquire in any form, whether a first-hand sighting or a second-hand anecdote, but he couldn't stop his mind from going there.
Fortunately, they separated before they changed back. Their clothes were in terrible shape. Which was a point of concern, since George was currently hiding in a closet, which contained clothes that they might want to steal.
Instead, with their scraps of clothes barely hanging off of them, Shane and Robyn left the room. They didn't even cuddle. Hell, Shane didn't even give her a quick, "Hey, thanks, babe," kiss.
George glanced over at Tom and Betsy. He'd done a lot of terrible things in his life, but never had George felt that he owed somebody an apology more than at this moment.
But he shouldn't speak. Alerting the werewolves to his presence because he wanted to apologize would not be the brightest thing he could do.
He heard the front door close as they left the house. They weren't even here to look for him. They just wanted a place to get it on.
"I am so very sorry," George whispered to the elderly couple. "I had no idea that was going to happen. I truly thought they were just comin
g in here to kill me."
Tom and Betsy had nothing to say.
"Don't leave the closet for at least a couple of hours," George told them. He figured that the werewolf danger would be over long before that, but he didn't want them calling the police.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. He'd looked nervous when George first knocked on his door, and he looked quite a bit more nervous now. He would be forever haunted by what he'd heard.
George slowly opened the closet door, which of course creaked loud enough to make George worry that Shane might have heard it from outside.
"Any chance you two have anything silver?" George asked. "A knife? Crucifix? Fork?"
Betsy shook her head. "Only my earrings."
"That probably won't cut it. I'm going to steal some of your stuff before I leave. Is that okay?"
* * *
"Did you kill him already?" Crabs asked.
"He wasn't in there," Shane said. "We looked."
Crabs narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. "You did other things."
"Shut up, Crabs," said Robyn.
"You went in there and had intercourse. Intercourse. We heard it, and I can—"
"I'm serious, Crabs," said Robyn. "If you keep talking, I will rip your jaw off. I mean that literally. Literally. I will literally tear your jaw off if I hear one more word about what you think we might have done in there."
Crabs shrugged. "I was not defining you by your choice. I am not fortunate enough to have a partner, or I would have done the same thing, sooner. But George still lurks."
Eugene, who was still on the ground, looked absolutely miserable. Shane thought it would be kind of funny if, after everything this poor bastard had obviously been through, his ultimate fate was to freeze to death. He could've been saved by a jacket.
"I already told you that George is gone," said Eugene. "He stole a car and drove away. He's getting further and further and further and further away with every second we don't go after him. You're standing around talking about intercourse while he gets away."
"That's not your problem," said Shane.
"It is my problem! It's my problem, big-time!" Eugene slowly and shakily got to his feet. He wobbled a bit but remained upright. "I need revenge. The only reason I haven't slashed my own neck with these surgically attached fingernails is because I need revenge before I die. You three are keeping me from that. Right now. Right now at this moment you're keeping me from revenge. I need revenge! Vengeance! Payback! Retribution! Eye for an eye! Tit for tat!" Eugene swung the hand that was a wolf paw menacingly in the air. "Death to George and Lou! I'm halfway there, but I didn't get to kill Lou myself, so it only barely counts! Death to George! Death to George!"
