The Preternatural Chronicles: Books 0-3

by Hunter Blain

  “Is that…?”

  “The silver blade,” Depweg finished for me. “The same one I got just before we first met while in the middle of WWII. A Nazi werwolf hunter came after me and left me with these.” He lifted his shirt, revealing the road map of thick, zigzag scars I had seen as fresh gashes so long ago. Even after burning the wounds closed, the silver had still left its mark.

  “There was a Nazi werewolf hunter? You never told me that!” I said, mocking a hurt expression. “Seriously though, shit sounds like an ’80s straight-to-VHS movie. Neat.”

  He chuckled at that, thought for a moment, and said, “Felt more like a Christopher Nolan film as it was happening. But that’s a story for another time.”

  “What, like a spin-off? You think you’re there in terms of character development yet?” I joked.

  “Oh, so this is a story about you then, is it?” he jabbed right back.

  “Everyone’s the star in their own movie.”

  “Everyone’s the hero in their own story as well. Don’t forget that,” he said.

  That struck home. The actions I had partook in of late had been more than questionable, even downright inexcusable. Just because my intentions had been pointed in the right direction, it didn’t make me a good guy.

  Depweg noticed that I was deep in self-reflection and added, “Always time to change the narrative.” With that, he smiled. After a moment, the weight of what he had just gone through pulled his smile down at the corners of his eyes and mouth, as if an elephant had been tied to his face and thrown off a cliff. He looked much older in an instant.

  Now it was my time to console my friend.

  “Did you know that in Terminator, um, Arnold’s iconic line ‘I’ll be back’ almost didn’t, ah, happen?” I said shyly.

  Depweg looked up at me. Sadness was replaced with confusion.

  “Yeah. Arnold argued with James Cameron that a machine wouldn’t use a contraction like ‘I’ll.’ So, we almost got ‘I will be back,’ which I don’t think has the same gravitas and flow.”

  He continued to stare at me in disbelief, though he had cut the strings holding the elephant, letting it plummet to its death, alone.

  “I…did not know that,” he said slowly, still confused.

  I mentally high-fived myself for changing his emotion. I was a master manipulator.

  I pulled up the sleeve on my leather duster, revealing a naked wrist, and said, “Would you look at that, it’s murder time.”

  After another moment of looking at me as if I were speaking in tongues, Depweg vigorously nodded his head, snapped his fingers, and said, “Instead of Miller time. I get it. I understood that reference.”

  “Okay, Captain America. Shall we go seek some revenge?”

  “I’m from Germany,” Depweg stated.

  “Lilith!” I said in exasperation. “I need to take you to a damn movie.”

  “I don’t put out,” he remarked seamlessly.

  After Depweg grabbed a few provisions from what remained of his house, we set off down the dirt road. The night was cool, or maybe it was just warm around the remains of the flame. The air smelled fresher the further from the graveyard we drove. Wind rustled the leaves, and it sounded like a stadium full of fans applauding in the distance.

  There was a crack as a branch was broken. Depweg let off the accelerator and we coasted to a slow stop. After glancing at each other to confirm that we had, indeed, both heard that noise, we went to work. He smelled the air while my eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any heat signatures.

  “We are upwind of the tree line. I can’t smell anything,” Depweg whispered.

  Another crack further down the line from the first. My eyes locked onto the area of the noise, and I could barely make out a line of blurry red spots. Something was off about them, like they were behind a thick wall or coated in some sort of infrared-dampening clothing.

  “Get down!” I half yelled, half whispered at Depweg.

  I leaped out of the jeep and Depweg followed out my side, putting the vehicle between us and the trees. An explosion of suppressed gunfire erupted and slammed into the driver’s side of the jeep. The impact of the bullets on the metal frame sounded like cracks of lightening, while the actual reports of the guns were muffled whispers in comparison.

  Depweg huddled on the ground while I used the jeep’s giant tires as a blockade. A bullet found its mark and hit Depweg in his exposed calf, splitting the skin on the side. Though it was a glancing shot, it dug deep. Depweg called out in pain and grabbed his leg, his head facing the sky in agony. This presented the back of his skull as a prime target, so I leaped from my position and tackled him to the other tire just as a hail of bullets ripped the seat apart where his head had just been.

  “Si-silver,” Depweg stammered. “The fuckers are using silver rounds.” Blood was seeping through his fingers where he held his gaping calf.

  The jeep provided minimal cover, and they were going to flank us soon. Looking left and right revealed that there was nowhere to go. We could head for the trees behind us, but the jeep would stop providing cover if we got up and ran. We had to fight.

  “Depweg,” I said as I grabbed his shoulders, forcing his gaze to shift to me. His eyes held pain and anger, but there was no fear. “They killed your pack,” I said pointing to the tree line. With that line uttered, his breathing slowed and became deeper. The pain around his eyes withered and was replaced with fury. “Time for dinner,” I said with a smile. As I did, my canines elongated and my eyes shifted to crimson. I willed my fingers to sprout thick, razor-sharp bloodclaws that covered my nails.

  Depweg took the cue and fell on all fours, with the tire still blocking his bulk. He threw off his clothes and let the change take over. He gulped in a deep breath and held it for a few heartbeats. His bones started to pop as they began to grow. Sinew and muscles were lengthened, and Depweg let out a bone-chilling howl that was part human in agony, and part wolf free of his human prison. His legs bent backward with deafening cracks. Hair sprouted all over his body; human at first, then growing thicker into a wolf’s dense pelt. Depweg’s face expanded outward. His eyes closed tight in pain. The jaws extended outward while teeth grew into saliva-covered fangs. When he opened his eyes again, they were pure yellow orbs with black slits. They reminded me of the color of a bright full moon when it was low on the horizon.

  A giant, five-hundred-pound, eight-foot-long wolf stood on all fours and howled into the night. The sound was like a haunted locomotive carrying twelve thousand tons of rage. He looked at me with his yellow eyes, chuffed, and nodded once. I took my mark and turned toward the tree line, with my hands pointed at the ground before us. I sent spears of blood deep into the ground, underneath and in between the jeep and the trees. Shifting focus, I spread out the blooddiggers to either side for several meters in a crescent moon shape. The ground rumbled audibly. Pebbles danced on the surface. After I had extended far enough to be uncomfortable with the amount of energy I was about to use, I stopped and took a huge breath.

  The gunfire had ceased at the howl, and now the sound of magazines being ejected and replaced filled the night’s air. Bolts were slapped into place, and footsteps sounded on the foliage.

  I squatted down to the ground, like a powerlifter about to deadlift the world. With a gargantuan amount of focus and will, I sprang up and threw my hands to the sky above us.

  The explosion was immediate and intense. Rocks, clay, dirt, and mud shot through the air straight up, creating a curtain of earth. At the cusp, the debris hung in the air as if frozen in time. Before gravity could take hold again and return it to its rightful place, I leaped on top of the jeep and slammed my hands together with enough force and speed to break the sound barrier. A thunderous shock wave expanded out in a sphere, throwing me backward several yards. I landed on my ass and tumbled tits over feet until my momentum slowed. The desired effect was achieved, however, as chunks of earth were propelled at the tree line in a blitzkrieg of streaking rocks.
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  Startled cries pierced the night as several men were torn and shredded. I propped myself on my elbows, still recovering from the sonic boom and expenditure of energy, to see Depweg diving into the fray. He targeted the men who were left standing and dazed. It was a magnificent slaughter.

  Claws raked body armor, leaving rivulets of blood, as black-clothed men in masks struggled to recover. Salivating jaws tore chunks of gore and flesh from throats as gurgling men collapsed to their knees, holding what used to be their necks.

  Depweg then located the last man standing, his finger squeezing a trigger that clicked empty. His jaws engulfed the helmeted skull and tightened. The man screamed and tried to punch the giant wolf, forgetting about his gun and spare mags entirely in his panic. The helmet started to crack and dent as the man clawed at the straps under his chin with clumsy fingers electrified with adrenaline.

  The man shrieked in panic as the helmet started pushing its way into his skull. Bones cracked, and a high-pitched scream escaped the man’s throat. The front of the helmet had been bent over his eyes, and only his face below the nose stuck out. Streams of blood started spilling down his face. His hands abandoned the chin strap and now frantically pushed upward on the helmet, slipping on the blood that was increasing in volume until there was a scarlet waterfall pouring down his face.

  After a few more moments, the helmet was three quarters the size it had started as. The man’s hands slowly began to sag as the life left his body. Sound didn’t escape his wide mouth anymore, but it continued to open and close like a morbid ventriloquist’s dummy. The final crunch came and the man jerked once, then went limp. Depweg dropped him to the ground, where the man’s body twitched at random intervals, as if hit with a malfunctioning stun gun. I made it up to my feet and over to the tree line, where Depweg and I methodically tended to the wounded.

  I could see a man whose legs had been crushed by a boulder the size of a paint bucket. His feet stuck straight up at an awkward angle, with the rock crushing his shins and knees into the earth. The assassin struggled uselessly to move the rock. He stopped when he saw Depweg stalking his way to him. The man looked around in fear and spotted his gun a few feet from where he lay pinned to the ground. He reached for it and then screamed in agony at the movement, his cry muffled by his balaclava. His bloodshot eyes locked on Depweg again, and he stretched his arms to the weapon a second time, wailing as he did. His fingertips had barely touched the gun when Depweg walked up behind the man and grabbed his neck in his jaws. A quick bite and jerk of the head, and the man fell limp.

  Another assassin was leaving a trail of blood mixed with mud as he tried to pull himself away on his forearms. I stood on his lower back and pressed down. He sucked in air in surprise and pain and then moaned, letting his face drop to the dirt.

  Reaching down, I flipped the man onto his back with ease and looked him in the eyes, letting my bloodclaws pierce his shoulders.

  “Locke?” was the only thing I asked.

  The man didn’t answer, only stared at me with barely controlled panic in his eyes and a gaping mouth. Pulling the man up to my face while digging the claws deeper, I said, “Don’t make me ask again, blood jug,” revealing my fangs as I did. The man continued to stare, not answering.

  I felt breath on the back of my neck as Depweg pushed his head past my shoulder and into the man’s face, jaws drenched in blood and gore open and dripping.

  The man’s eyes went wide enough I thought they were going to pop out of his head and flee into the night.

  “Ye-yes!” the man stammered.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” I said in my best RoboCop voice, and sank my fangs into the man’s neck. The life rushed into me, and I felt like I could scale the highest mountain.

  After all threats had been eliminated, Depweg and I sat on the ground in relief. I lay back and let my gaze shift to the night sky, watching gray clouds pass.

  “That,” I paused for emphasis, “was close.”

  Depweg whimpered, and I turned to see him licking his lower back on his right side. I pulled myself up and walked behind him. There were three blood-soaked holes in the shape of a half moon that were matted with fur. Blood flowed freely with no signs of stopping.

  I reached around him while whispering in his ear, “No homo.” I felt his stomach and around his torso, but couldn’t find any exit wounds.

  “Shit,” I said. “Gonna have to dig those bastards out.”

  Depweg whimpered and turned his head away.

  I willed little chopstick-sized spears of blood from my fingertips and touched the first gaping crater.

  “Now, this might sting a bit,” I said as I slid them into the bullet hole. Inch by inch I went in, all the while Depweg slightly trembled and whimpered.

  “Shit,” I muttered, “that’s in there pretty deep.” As I finished talking, the tip of one spear touched the silver fragment, and then broke. A jolt of electricity went up my arm and I fell back. The manifestation fell from my hand and melted like a popsicle in the sun.

  Waving my hand in the air to pointlessly abate the pain, I said out loud, “Right, silver.”

  Looking around, I noticed the jeep and got an idea. “B-R-B,” I said, enunciating every letter.

  I jogged over to the jeep, where I found Depweg’s bag, and then rummaged around until I found the kukri. I removed it from its sheath, letting the moonlight glint off the reverberating blade.

  Making my way back to where Depweg sat, I held the knife—very carefully, I might add—out in front of me. Last thing I needed was to trip over a gopher hole and stab myself through the face. Depweg looked over and shifted his eyes immediately to the glinting blade. His ears lay back and his eyes became yellow billiard balls while shaking his head in negation.

  “Gotta do it, buddy. Only way,” I said, trying my best to sound reassuring.

  He turned his head away and lowered it, clearly unhappy as to the upcoming addition to his road map of scars.

  Standing over the wounds, I placed the blade over the hole and sliced into it, cutting in a few centimeters. Depweg whined through closed jaws and flexed his paws into the earth.

  I set the knife down and stuck my index and middle fingers into the hole as gingerly as I could, and slowly pulled the hole wider. The slit allowed the skin to part evenly and cleanly. After further opening the wound, I started to slide both fingers into the bleeding cavity until I could feel the reverberation of the silver fragment. Letting my delicate digits slide over the bullet, I pinched and smoothly pulled it out.

  As the bullet cleared the hole, I dropped it to the ground, ready to repeat the process two more times.

  Second round removed, I moved on to the third, which was deeper. I was forced to pull out and, apologizing to Depweg, cut even deeper into his flesh with the blade. I was confident Depweg had loved it because he tried to turn and give me a love bite with razor-sharp fangs.

  I spanked his nose and said, “No. Bad Deppyweg. Bad.”

  He turned his head away again with a growl and let me finish my task.

  With the last bullet out, I looked down and noticed the wounds were still flowing with blood.

  “Hey,” I asked, “are these wounds going to be small enough to heal?”

  Depweg turned his head and inspected the wounds. He licked them, as dogs do, and looked back up at me. A shake of his head confirmed my suspicions.

  “So, fire then,” I said with a sigh of frustration. At the mention of fire, Depweg jumped forward a bit and turned to face me with his whole body, growling.

  “Dude, I get it. I no likey fire as much as the next supe, but that’s our only choice. Now, do we do this in wolf form or what?”

  Depweg paced back and forth, whimpering with each pained step.

  “Human form?” I asked.

  Depweg stopped, looked at me, and nodded.

  “Alrighty, then. Convert away. Or is it revert?” I asked.

  He nodded his head, but then looked up at me and chuffed once.r />
  “What is it, boy? Little Timmy stuck in the old well?” I said while crouching down slightly and putting both hands on my knees. The realization of what name I had said struck home, and it took me off guard for a moment.

  After looking at me for a moment, seemingly in the same thought, he chuffed again and turned to one of the bodies and started eating.

  “Oh, right. Food to heal. Hey, you could have eaten them in human form and I wouldn’t have judged. I do it all the time,” I joked, forcing humor to swallow my grief.

  After every one of the corpses had the thick muscles from their nonarmored arms and thighs eaten, Depweg lay on the ground and began the transformation. Fur began to thin until it was humanlike hair, then fell out. His snout shortened with the sound of a truck’s tires slowly driving up a gravel road. The fangs in his mouth fell out, and human teeth grew in their stead. His knees popped back into place, and claws were swallowed by growing tan-colored skin.

  After a minute, the transformation was complete, and Depweg lay shuddering on the ground. Blood continued to pour down his wounds, which had not shrunk with the rest of him. They were actually bigger on his body now. The silver had prevented whatever magic flowed through his veins from working on the holes.

  Depweg reached behind and felt the trauma with a trembling hand. He pulled his fingers away and brought them in front of his face, inspecting the dark blood.

  “Whatever you are going to do, John, please hurry,” Depweg said with fading, pained breaths.

  Looking around, I got another genius idea. I strode over to one of the hit men and removed his balaclava from his face. As I walked back over to where Depweg was bleeding out, I ripped the mask into three even strips. Once I reached where he lay, I crouched and said, “Sorry man, but gotta do this,” and stuffed the strips into each of the holes as deep as they would go. Depweg gasped in pain and tensed, but only a little, which worried the hell out of me.

  “Hold on, man,” I said with growing worry as I focused on the strips. One by one, I excited the molecules of the fabric all the way into the wounds, which started to smoke and then smolder. The blood fought to keep the strips from igniting. I took in a deep breath and then focused on the strips with all the force of my will. Veins stood out on my head as I concentrated. They continued to smoke, but did not burn. This pissed me off, and I used my anger. I wasn’t about to let my friend die, especially considering it was my fucking fault.