Uncle Gary's Campfire Stories: Bayou Zombie Werewolves

by Visada, J. L. M.

  “Won’t that kill him?”

  “Mr. Bertrand…I believe you misunderstand what project Tithonus is. The creatures in the other room, and this one here…they are already dead.”

  Clay gasped, “Dead? How? That’s not possible!”

  “All things are possible through science. Now, if you’ll follow me to my office I’ll answer any of your other questions.”

  “Aren’t we going to get closer so that I can see this one better?”

  The doctor shook his head, “No, that would be…unwise. Danior might see it as an opportunity for escape. For everyone’s safety this is the closest that I can allow you to observe.”

  “Danior? That’s his name?”

  “Yes. He was one of my experiments back in the camp. Your government allowed me to keep him for further testing when I explained his significance.”

  “Significance? What significance?” Clay’s curiosity was peaked.

  “You are looking at quite possibly the very last werewolf in existence.” Dr. Heim said proudly.

  Chapter Three

  Doctor Heim escorted the visibly shaken Clay Bertrand back to his office for further explanation. Both men were quiet the entire walk. Clay was too shocked to find words, and Aribert was basking in the glow of his perceived superiority. When they made it into the office Aribert sat down at his desk, and Clay nervously sat across from him on a particularly uncomfortable wooden stool. It was clear guests were very rare, and discouraged in this office. Clay did his best to avoid looking at the skull sitting on the desk as a paperweight. He eventually had to fold his hands into his lap and stare at the doctor like a nervous student preparing to be spanked by the principal.

  The doctor leaned back and began, “Project Tithonus gets its name from the mythological story of Tithonus. The man was given immortality, but not eternal youth. So he lives forever, but the ravages of time still take their toll on his body. I believe that sums up my project quite well. The others here have been most helpful in assisting me in the furthering of the project. The creatures are created by using a tiny engineered parasite that rapidly increases aggression in its victims. It stimulates the adrenal gland, the heart, and various parts of the brain. What is left is a pure predator. The parasite reproduces in the salivary glands, and spreads through biting. It can also spread through other bodily fluids, but after observation it’s fairly clear that someone is typically less likely to come into contact with blood, semen, or urine. As the parasite continues to spread through the body, organs start to fail. Then after the organs fail, the body begins to die, but something amazing happens. The brain adapts to the lack of oxygen, and then starts feeding on the sulfhemoglobin. Somehow, and I regretfully confess to still being unaware of the process, the parasite begins changing the muscles so that they also can use the sulfhemoglobin as fuel. Unfortunately, while the brain and body adapts to function on sulfhemoglobin, it does not stop the decaying process. Because of this, the creatures you saw are unable to heal. They are unable to create more blood, and therefore unable to make more sulfhemoglobin. We believe the creatures instinctively begin hunting and feeding to replenish sulfhemoglobin by taking in the hemoglobin from the victim. Obviously their digestive functions have stopped, and so we believe that as the hemoglobin changes to sulfhemoglobin…it is somehow absorbed through the lining of the throat and stomach. Decomposing gases aid the heart in transporting the sulhemoglobin through the veins and arteries back into the brain.”

  “Amazing, you said it affects the heart and adrenal gland. How exactly does it do this, and what happens when they run out of the sulfawhatzits?” Clay asked nervously. He wasn’t comfortable with what he’d heard, but he’d always been a professional. He had to try to take an active interest in the project.

  “The heart becomes a pump that helps to push the sulfhemoglobin through the body. It’s not very efficient, but it does aid in the transport. This is the minor function of the hearts new duties. The heart becomes a transport device to send the parasite to all parts of the body. The parasite settles into the atrioventricular node, and then spreads from there. You may not be aware of this, but the atrioventricular node sends electrical signals to the heart causing it to contract. The heart pumps without a signal from the brain because of this. Now the adrenal gland is also affected. It produces adrenaline at an extremely high level. You’ve heard of women seeing their children trapped under a car, and then lifting the car off the child. This is because of adrenaline. So the combination of adrenaline, and aggression from the changes in the brain make a walking engine of destruction. The creatures are far stronger than they ever were in life.”

  “Yeah but what about the sulfah…slfhemo…sulfur?”

  Aribert stared at the man like he was a particularly slow student, “Sulfhemoglobin. Once the creature runs out it starts to run down like a windup toy. If it completely ran out it might barely function, but it would still be dangerous.”

  Clay thought about it for a few moments, “Okay, so they are basically the reanimated dead...they’re zombies. So they get released on a population, and within a few days or weeks that population is either completely converted, or reduced to just a few survivors that are so busy fighting for their lives that they pose no threat. How do we stop them after they surrender?”

  “We don’t. My creatures are released as a final solution. The infected are fast and strong when they first arrive, and they grow in numbers quite rabidly. As their bodies decompose they become slower and weaker, but that is offset by their large numbers. Depending on weather, and other variables, the first generation of the creatures are so decomposed after a month that they most likely will barely be able to do more than shamble around. They’ll most likely be completely blind, and have lost their ability to hear or smell. The…zombies as you prefer to call them will then rely on their sense of touch to find food. Loud noises cause vibrations, and they’ll pursue those vibrations. After two months they’ll be lucky if they can do more than crawl slowly. Even then they will still be searching for food. Don’t you see, these creatures keep searching for more food, and are never satisfied. Release them into a community, and the people eventually cannibalize themselves. It’s brilliant. All the danger of a chemical weapon contained in the inventiveness and intellect of a human being.”

  Clay nodded, “I…I see your point. Now, how do we stop them if these things get out? I mean surely you understand that if we use these on another country then it’s just a matter of time before they ship one back to us.”

  The Doctor’s brow furrowed. It was clear he hadn’t considered that possibility. “We’ve decapitated one of the creatures, and while the body ceased to function, the head continued trying to bite. It even tried to drag itself across the exam table using its tongue. In experiments, when we destroy the brain all activity stops. Massive trauma to the brain would kill them. If Danior got out things might be more difficult. You might have to use a nuclear device, or burn him to ash. Damage to his brain has shown to have no effect since his lycanthropy heals any injury almost immediately. If the parasite dies, so does the creature. He does show a severe allergy to silver, but even then I’m not sure if using silver would work. We haven’t had opportunity or resources to test it yet. Generally speaking, the best you could probably hope for is to slow him down long enough to contain him, and then kill him when he can’t attack or escape.”

  “So tell me more about the werewolf? Danior?” Clay asked while making air quotes around werewolf.

  Aribert chuckled, “He’s a medical miracle.”

  “There are no such things as werewolves.”

  “Danior would disagree with you…if he took the time to discuss such things. Unfortunately he is quite hostile, but years of confinement on animals can have that affect.” Aribert grinned. “I do understand your confusion, and I’ll explain. You’re familiar with the witch hunts correct.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, on a lesser note there were also werewolf hunts. Hans the Werewolf, Thies
s, Gilles Garnier, Henry Hardin…all were all either executed or punished for being a werewolf. The concept of beasts that were stronger, faster, and more difficult to kill was so closely tied to the goals of my experiments that I began investigating. On the surface it looks like they are completely unrelated, but a little historical digging showed that a group of gypsies had visited each area before the problems with lycanthropy began. When I learned this little detail I began searching for this band of gypsies. Fortune smiled on me, and I learned that the entire band of gypsies had been captured and taken to one of our camps. Unfortunately, by the time my request for their transportation to Mauthausen was received, only Danior remained. He was just a young teen at that time. The others had been gassed. I still wonder why they didn’t just transform and escape. It defies logic.” Aribert said as he absentmindedly stroked the skull holding his paperwork down. “After studying him for all these years, I recently incorporated him into project Tithonus. The parasite flows through his veins. Even now he’s slowly decaying, but when he changes to a werewolf…either intentionally, or through the effect of the full moon, he begins to heal. He can heal himself almost completely, but he can never completely fight off the parasite. Also, because of his lycanthropy, he seems to deteriorate at a much slower rate than one would expect. So the man you saw is driven by the same hunger like the other subjects, but he also heals himself back at will. So as a zombie he is aggressive and hungers for blood and flesh. Of course even as a werewolf he’s driven by very primal appetites. So it just becomes a vicious cycle of healing werewolf, decaying zombie, but always hungry, and always deadly. He’s truly my finest achievement.”

  A shrill alarm sounded throughout the complex. The Doctor rose to his feet and left the room. Clay quickly followed after him. They moved to the main briefing room. The other doctors and scientists had already filed in. Clay sat down next to Samantha Collins. No one seemed to know what was going on. Finally, Gunther touched a button signifying everyone had arrived, and only then did the alarm stopped. Everyone in the room gave an appreciative look to the man that silenced the shrieking alarm.

  A deep male voice blasted out from the loudspeaker, “Attention! Attention! The President has been shot. His condition is currently unknown, but at this point all compounds need to be taking extra security measures.”

  Clay covered his mouth with a hand as the grin grew. Meanwhile most of the others looked at one another nervously. The exception being Dr. Heim…his eyes stayed locked onto Clay, and a sly grin grew. Most of the rest of the day was tense, but uneventful. News about the president’s condition filtered in throughout the day as Clay met with the other people within the compound. He learned more about their particular roles in the project, and where they saw the project headed in the next five years. They all sounded excited by the possibilities, but Clay couldn’t help but notice how none of them really seemed to consider what would happen when these creatures were unleashed on the people. Everything to them was academic, and they just couldn’t see things in terms of the human suffering it would cause, or maybe they refused to see them that way to make it more palatable. Dinner was served later than usual, and by time they all sat down at the table it was very clear the president had been assassinated. The police had a suspect in custody. His name was Lee Harvey Oswald.

  Clay seemed particularly troubled by Oswald’s capture. He became fidgety, and his eyes darted nervously as though he himself were about to be in trouble. Most of the others just attributed it to the man’s nature. They didn’t really know him, and just assumed that he was like this at all times. Only Aribert guessed the real nature of the man’s behavior. The truth was that the man was often the picture of calm. Even in the most stressful situation he always kept himself well centered. It was Oswald’s capture. The plan had been for Oswald to sneak off, and then take a car to Florida where he’d steal a boat and make his way to Cuba. Now he had one more loose end that had to be tied up before he talked. Clay was confident that somehow the other men involved would silence Lee Harvey, but would they do it in time?

  Dr. Heim excused himself, “If you’ll all forgive me. The incident today has cost me my appetite.” He left without taking even one bite. The rest of the group ate quietly. There was no conversation beyond the asking for pepper, to pass the potatoes, or they muttered quietly about how surprised they were that Dr. Heim cooked so well. The man had never cooked a meal that they could remember. He’d always just ate whatever someone else cooked, or made himself a sandwich. Clay and the others ate as well as could be expected.

  Afterwards the dishes were cleaned, and then everyone went to their own room. Dr. Shawn McMichaels led Clay to the spare bedroom. The spare bedroom had a very Spartan feel. It was just a simple bed, a blanket, a pillow, and a chair next to the empty closet. “Goodnight Mr. Bertrand.” The old doctor said, and then turned to go to his room.

  Clay Bertrand tried to sleep, but found himself irritated by the whole situation. Someone next door, Dr. Heim most likely, was playing some German song on a record player. The melody was familiar even if he couldn’t understand the German words. Clay lay there trying to remember why that particular song sounded so familiar. Eventually Clay recognized it as the old song, “Lili Marleen”.

  Clay’s laugh was hallow, “I haven’t heard that song in years. I like the English version better.” A strange frustration continued to build as he glared at the ceiling. He wanted to hit something. An intense desire to hurt someone just seemed to bubble up from somewhere inside of himself. The urge changed slowly…subtly, and the urge to rend and tear wasn’t enough. Now he wanted to bite, chew, and devour. The urge just felt right. He was in full possession of his faculties, and yet thoughts unlike any he’d ever had before were slithering through his head. He only briefly considered how strange and alien his thoughts were, but it wasn’t too long before they seemed perfectly natural. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. “What do you want?” Clay snapped as he swung the door open.

  “You.” Samantha Collins pushed her way into the room wearing only her bra and panties. She shoved forcefully enough that the man smacked his head against the wall. His frustration and anger finally had a target. Clay slapped her across the face. He was furious that she’d dare force her way in here. She fell onto the bed. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. She licked it away, “Is that all you’ve got?”

  He grabbed Samantha’s hair, and jerked her back to her feet. She screamed, and he shoved his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like stale cigarettes, and coffee. She tasted like blood and faintly of toothpaste. Clay pushed her against the door. His hands slid up and down her side, and then moved to her bra. He wasn’t gentle. A hard tug ripped the bra off her body, and then fell to the floor. By tomorrow there’d be bruises from the bra, but right now neither of them cared. Clay stopped kissing her long enough to suck a breast.

  “Bastard!” She moaned.

  Samantha pulled his ears to try to kiss him again, but Clay bit down onto her breast leaving teeth marks. She squealed in a mixture of arousal and pain, then pulled harder until he finally let go to kiss her again. Aribert turned up the volume on his record player until it was drowning out the sounds of the two lovers from anyone that might have been walking by. Meanwhile Clay’s hands were pulling at her panties until they gave an audible ripping sound. His boxers weren’t faring any better. Samantha had yanked against his boxers until the elastic band was ripped off the rest of the material. The elastic clung onto Clay like a belt, and the rest fell down below his knees.

  Clay hooked her knees with his arms, and pinned her against the door. The door handle left a long scratch on her hip. Samantha grunted in pain as he forced himself inside her. She was still dry, and he absolutely refused to wait. With each pump of his hips she screamed. Her nails clawed down his back, drawing blood. Eventually she screamed as she felt herself tear a little, and then she bit down onto his shoulder. “Bitch!” Clay yelled, and pumped himself into her harder and fa
ster.

  As time passed she felt herself starting to grow wet, but whether it was from blood or arousal was anyone’s guess. The wetter she became, the more forcefully Clay drove himself into her. Clay moved faster, trying to punish her with each thrust. Rage and frustration fueled each flex of his hips. It wasn’t long before there was a distinct crack as one of her ribs broke under the constant pounding. Samantha didn’t even react to it. She was too far gone to register the pain. Instinctively she bit down onto his neck and started chewing.

  Her teeth broke the skin, but instead of letting go she bit down harder until blood burst into her mouth. Clay howled, more from the shock than pain, and he started punching her in the ribs to get her to let go. She wouldn’t, and instead just kept chewing. Clay tried to pry her off, but she had both arms wrapped around him, and she wasn’t letting go. He kept trying to push her head away, and he might have succeeded if he’d concentrated his efforts, but at the same time he was pushing away, his hips never stopped lunging forward. It kept him from being able to really muster up the strength to remove her. The blood kept pouring out of his neck, and any part that she didn’t swallow was running down onto the floor into an ever growing puddle. Clay took a step to attempt to get better leverage, but instead he slipped on the blood and fell flat on his back. Samantha’s head smacked onto the floor, leaving a huge gash on her forehead that was bleeding heavily. It only seemed to excite her more.

  Clay was getting weak from blood loss. As he started losing consciousness Samantha finally bit all the way through. She rose up with one of the tendons between her teeth still attached to the man. She kept pulling away until it snapped like a guitar string that had been pulled too tightly. His hands fell to the floor limply, but she kept riding him as she swallowed down his flesh, and slurped that tendon down like spaghetti. Clay’s heart was fluttering weakly. He was close to death. Samantha bent back over him again to drink the last few squirts of blood. She drank him in greedy slurps. She only paused briefly as an orgasm fluttered through her. Then she went back to drinking each weakening spray of crimson, and occasionally taking additional bites as the blood began to slow and clot. She felt his penis swell, and then a few moments later she was vaguely aware of the semen running down her thighs. That didn’t really matter anymore because she’d found something so much more satisfying. She kept gnawing at the wound. When the blood stopped flowing altogether, she began bashing his head into the floor in an attempt to get to his brain. It didn’t take long.