Wolf Hunt (Book 2)

by Jeff Strand

  She heard him before he reached her. The sight of a man in a winter coat and boxer shorts would probably be a strange one even without everything else that was weird about him, and it took her a second to process.

  Unfortunately, Eugene was several seconds away from her, so she was more than ready by the time he reached her. He didn't care. Wolf-woman or not, he was going to tackle her and fight to the death.

  He even let out a battle cry. Screw it, he had nothing to lose.

  Eugene was ready for her to take a vicious swing at him, so he lowered his head right before impact.

  He successfully ducked out of the way of her swing, which he figured was his one moment of good luck for this conflict. As he slammed into her werewolf chest, the snout that had been sewn onto his face popped almost all of its stitches at once. It flopped over and dangled by only one or two threads.

  Robyn swiped at him. He put up his paw to block her. This time, all of the stitches broke, and the paw popped right off, falling into the snow next to his bare feet. There wasn't a fountain of blood, but there was definitely some blood.

  Eugene hadn't been given the opportunity to look into the crater that used to be his nose after Mr. Dewey had it removed but before he'd sewn on the replacement. He wondered if he'd be alive long enough to recoil at the sight of himself in the mirror.

  He thrust his other hand at Robyn's face.

  Four of the five fingernails broke completely off as soon as they struck fur. They weren't his real nails, but they'd been on his hand for at least a couple of weeks, and they were well-stuck to the skin. So the pain of having four fingernails come off at once was, without question, the worst physical agony he'd ever endured. It felt every bit as bad as he might have imagined it would feel to have all four nails ripped off at once, plus a little worse. He'd never had anything positive to say about Mr. Dewey, but at least he'd drugged Eugene before removing his real nails.

  The fifth nail, the nail on his ring finger, plunged deep into Robyn's eyeball.

  She did not react calmly to this.

  * * *

  The howl of pain from Robyn sent a genuine, literal shiver down George's spine. As in, his spine actually trembled from the sound that she made when, as George saw when he looked over, Eugene stabbed one of his long-ass fingernails into her eye.

  Shane and Ally both turned to see what had just happened. Eugene pulled his hand away, and the fingernail snapped off. Eugene stepped back, blood dripping from his fingertips, while Robyn clutched at her eye and continued her wolfish shriek. The sound was so ghastly that, though it didn't make George feel sorry for her, it did make him wince at her plight. You never wanted to get a fingernail through your eyeball. Never.

  * * *

  Eugene knew that this was the moment to deliver his finishing blow, but he didn't really have a finishing blow. He was an emaciated, probably frostbitten, mangled mess whose only real offensive capability was the five fingernails that were now broken off.

  Well, and the teeth that were stuck to his shoulders and jaw. Maybe he'd use the teeth.

  He lunged at her, trying to get Robyn in a bear hug. She smacked him, but with the back of her hand instead of the claws, probably not intentionally, and he hit the ground.

  Robyn wrenched the nail out of her eye.

  Eugene looked up at her and tried to make peace with his death. It had been a fine life if you disregarded the past few weeks, and if this was how he went out, well, now George would be facing a one-eyed instead of two-eyed werewolf, and his odds of survival were that much greater.

  * * *

  George felt that it probably said something unpleasant about him that he couldn't work up the strength to move when Ally was being forced into attempted cannibalism by her father, but seeing Robyn with her eyeball spurting just brought him right back to life.

  He sat up, hurting his back in the process, and somehow managed to wrap his arms around Shane's neck. Shane immediately transformed and stood up, but George maintained his hold, standing up along with the wolfman, hugging him from behind.

  Ally punched him in the stomach.

  Shane tried to shake George off of him, but Ally punched him again, and their combined efforts were just enough to keep Shane from...

  Nope, Shane backhanded Ally just like Robyn had backhanded Eugene, and she hit the ground. George, however, tried to squeeze even tighter. He'd strangle the son of a bitch. As long as Shane didn't know any wrestling moves that involved throwing your opponent off your back, George was not going to let go, no matter what.

  Ally got back up and lunged at him. George couldn't quite see what she did, but it looked a hell of a lot like she'd grabbed a fistful of fur on his chest and yanked it, hard.

  George tightened his hug even more. Break, you stupid neck, break. He tried to jam his knee into Shane's back, but he just got him in the ass, which the weirdo probably enjoyed.

  Shane was thrashing around too much. Despite what he'd promised himself just moments ago, George wasn't going to be able to continue to hold on to him. If it were daylight, he would have told Ally to limp into the woods, find the bat, and bring it back to beat the shit out of her father, but since it was dark he was pretty sure this fight would be over before she returned.

  Shane twisted around and George lost his grip, falling to the ground for what he was pretty sure was the hundred and fifty-eighth time that day.

  Ally, undeterred, grabbed another fistful of Shane's fur.

  They were losing anyway, so George wasn't happy to see that Robyn was headed toward them.

  * * *

  Eugene had to admit that he was happy when Robyn apparently decided that helping her boyfriend (husband? brother?) was more important than killing him. There was no part of his body that didn't hurt right now, but he could push through that.

  Because Robyn clearly was not carrying anything, so the keys had to be in the car.

  * * *

  Robyn scooped Ally up in her arms. She wanted to crush the girl, fold her in half until she squirted from the sides like a jelly sandwich, but, no. Shane would be devastated if he lost his daughter, and quite honestly Shane was so far gone right now that he'd do something he'd regret.

  Even with a horrific eye injury, she got stuck being the responsible one.

  She hated her life.

  But loved the sex.

  * * *

  With Ally out of the way, Shane could devote his full attention to George. He was over the idea that George should suffer a long, drawn-out death. Shane might seem to be a monster, but he really wasn't, and the sight of his beloved Robyn with blood streaming down her face was worse than a silver bullet to his heart. He'd finish off George, get Robyn and Ally back to the car, and then they'd get her patched up. She'd be fine. She had to be fine.

  * * *

  It hurt like hell for Eugene to use his raw, bloody fingers to turn the key in the ignition, but he did it.

  The car engine roared to life.

  He wasn't going to be able to control the steering wheel very well, but he could accelerate and brake just fine, even if he couldn't really feel his feet anymore.

  The car shot forward.

  * * *

  George's first thought was that Eugene had gotten in the car and was speeding away from this whole mess. He had an instant of "That traitor!" before he remembered that he hadn't exactly been the most loyal companion today.

  Then he saw that Eugene was, in fact, driving the car toward them.

  Snow flew up behind the tires, but the car was making forward progress.

  George quickly got back up.

  * * *

  What the hell was the freak doing?

  Did he think he was George's rescue driver? That he'd throw open the door, George would hop in, and they'd speed away?

  Shane wondered if he'd had experiments performed upon his brain, as well as his body.

  * * *

  This was the moment.

  Perhaps not the moment George had been prepari
ng for his entire life. Maybe not even the moment he'd been preparing for all day—a lot had happened today, and he couldn't remember all of it. It was, however, a huge moment, one where if George put aside every bit of pain that burned through his entire body, he could make something wonderful happen.

  He leapt—actually leapt into the air—at Shane and shouted, "This is for—!"

  He meant to say "Lou," but the breath got knocked out of him upon impact. Shane could figure it out.

  They both hit the ground, George on top of him.

  George moved out of the way of the car with half a second to spare.

  As did Shane.

  George bashed Shane's head against the side of the moving car twice, then shoved him back into the snow.

  The rear tire ran over the werewolf's head with a satisfying crunch.

  * * *

  Robyn wailed, threw Ally aside, and rushed over to Shane's fallen body. The car kept moving forward, exposing her lover's crushed skull.

  She threw back her head and howled in misery.

  No. It wasn't a howl. Just a scream. She'd reverted back to human without realizing it.

  She gasped as George wrapped his arms around her neck.

  * * *

  Her arms and legs started to sprout fur again, but George snapped her neck before she could change back all the way.

  Whether her feelings for Shane were love, lust, or both, they'd really screwed her over.

  Killing a woman made him feel like crap, even if she was a murderous werewolf, but he thought he'd get over it.

  Eugene got out of the car. "Wow," he said.

  "Yeah. Who needs silver bullets when you can commit vehicular homicide?"

  Three dead werewolves. That officially counted as avenging Lou's death. He hoped the bearded bastard appreciated it, because George didn't think he'd ever fully recover.

  "Should we celebrate, or should we get out of here?" Eugene asked.

  "I'm thinking the latter."

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  Dad was dead.

  Robyn was dead.

  She was no longer in danger.

  Ally felt no fear.

  Only rage.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Changes

  George enjoyed a few seconds of hard-earned relief before he noticed that Ally had begun to sprout fur.

  "Ally...?" he asked.

  She looked over at him, eyes yellow, mouth extending, claws growing.

  "I think we should get in the car," George told Eugene.

  Eugene was way ahead of him. He opened the back door, wincing in pain as he did so, and got into the vehicle as George scooted into the driver's side. They both slammed their doors shut at the same time.

  Ally, now fully transformed, dropped to all fours. She stood back up, as if still trying to figure out how to move in her new form, then stayed upright and ran over to the car. Apparently the hole in her foot wasn't an issue as a wolf.

  "Can she get in?" asked Eugene.

  Ally slammed her fist against the window right next to him. It cracked but didn't shatter.

  George put the car into reverse and floored the gas pedal, running over Shane's crushed head again. There were going to be some nasty, difficult-to-explain surprises waiting for somebody, but that wasn't George's problem right now, though he did hope that the corpses weren't discovered by adorable children who just wanted to play at the park.

  He got back onto the road. Ally chased after him. Then she stopped, sniffed the air, and began to run down the road in the opposite direction.

  "Where's she going?" asked Eugene.

  "Aw, no, no, no." George slammed his fist against the steering wheel, which was such a stupid thing to do that he couldn't quite believe he'd done it, even with all he'd been through. "What if she's going after easier prey?"

  "You think that's what she's doing?"

  "Shit!" If she was just fleeing from her former kidnapper, good, she deserved to finally get away from him, but though she'd suffered tremendous losses today, there was no figurative blood on her hands. She hadn't killed anybody. She hadn't done anything that would haunt her.

  George couldn't let this night end with her taking an innocent life.

  "We have to stop her," he said. "We can't let her kill anybody!"

  His heart raced and his voice quivered with panic. He had to stop her. No matter what. Right now, the way things had worked out, it almost felt like a victory. He couldn't let it end in tragedy. Couldn't let Ally become a killer.

  He turned the car around and sped off after her.

  "How do we stop her without hurting her?" Eugene asked.

  "I have no idea. Tranquilizer darts would be awesome."

  "I don't have any."

  "I know."

  Ally was sprinting up ahead. George could run her down. There'd be one more victim of this awful day, but then he'd know that it was the last.

  No. There had to be another way.

  Ally looked back at him, let out a snarl that he couldn't hear, then ran off the side of the road.

  George sped up. "Okay, we're going to try to cut her off."

  He raced ahead of her, suddenly swerving as a goddamn deer decided to run across the road. He almost hit it, and in fact the front bumper might have grazed its tail, but the deer continued bounding onto the other side.

  George glanced up at the rearview mirror. "Maybe she'll go for the deer. We can catch her while she's eating it."

  "How?"

  "I don't know."

  It didn't matter. The deer ran off into the woods, out of sight, and Ally didn't go after it.

  "Are you sure we can't talk to her?" Eugene asked.

  "If you want to shout something encouraging out the window, be my guest!"

  They were no longer in a secluded area.

  In fact, a bunch of multi-colored Christmas lights declared that a few blocks ahead was the Tropper Holiday Festival. There was a huge, full parking lot. No wonder so few people seemed to be anywhere else in town.

  "You have got to be fucking kidding me," said George.

  There'd been several murders in town! Why wouldn't they cancel that shit?

  It was a giant buffet.

  How many people could Ally slaughter before the cops finally took her out?

  A dozen? Twenty? Thirty? With that many people that close together, she could rack up a body count that would make her Dad's look pretty unimpressive.

  "We have to run her down," said George.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Can you think of another way? Did you bring a net? It's going to be another massacre, Eugene!"

  Eugene looked grim.

  George slammed on the brakes, then he put the car into reverse. The tragic elements of what needed to be done had sort of overshadowed the fact that Ally wasn't just going to leap in front of the automobile.

  "Roll down your window," said George. "Do that stuff where you try to appeal to the goodness inside of her. Hurry!"

  Eugene rolled down his window, cringing with the pain of doing so, then leaned his head out. "Ally! Ally! Please! You don't have to do this!"

  Ally changed direction, running right for the car.

  "I think she wants to kill me," said Eugene.

  George looked over his shoulder as the car raced backwards. She was running straight toward them, so as long as she didn't swerve at the last instant...

  She didn't swerve, but she leapt up onto the rear of the vehicle. He heard her rapid footsteps on top, and then she leapt onto the front hood.

  George slammed on the brakes again, and she tumbled off.

  He could make a career out of dislodging werewolves from the tops of vehicles.

  The fall had hurt her. She got back up, but was limping badly. Unless she made a sudden miraculous werewolf recovery, she wasn't going to be able to get out of the way of the car this time.

  He floored the accelerator again.

  And then, proving once and for all that he was bet
ter with spur of the moment decision making than things that required actual plans, he swerved at the last moment.

  He threw open his door, bashing it into Ally, knocking her into the air and then onto her back.

  He slammed the brakes again.

  She lay in the middle of the road.

  That impact would've killed a normal person, but Ally deserved some kind of benefit from being a werewolf.

  George got out of the car. As he went to her, the fur disappeared. She lay there, bruised and battered. Even more so than she already had been.

  But she was breathing.

  George scooped her up in his arms and returned to the car.

  She looked up at him. She didn't smile, and he could barely hear her, but she said, "Thank you." Then she lost consciousness.

  * * *

  They drove through town, trying to figure out what to do.

  "We can't just keep her," said Eugene.

  "I know. But can we simply let her go? She can't control this. We stopped her from going on a killing spree, or maybe we only stopped her from running away from us, we'll have to ask her when she wakes up, but either way, she's a danger to others. She doesn't have any parents. Is it safe to just drop her off at a police station?"

  Eugene shrugged. "I'm sticking with you for as long as you'll have me, but you did shoot Mr. Dewey in the head. I'm not sure it's all that safe to be around you."

  "Fair enough."

  George glanced up at the rear-view mirror. There was a van that he thought might be following them, and he'd made three unnecessary turns to try and shake it. It was still there. This wasn't good.

  "Is that a bad van?" Eugene asked.

  George made a right turn. Another van was in the middle of the road, blocking his way.

  "I don't think you should ram it," said Eugene. "Not in this car."

  "I wasn't going to."

  "Should we surrender?"