Gideon suppressed a yelp as a dull pain erupted in his paw. A claw peeled away from the toe as he ran. He looked back at it, laying on the cave floor, and nearly lost his balance. And now he could definitely feel it. Romanian witchcraft, seeping into his muscles and tickling the back of his brain. It was in here. Had the Romanian cast a spell on the Pack?
Beside him, another wolf fell. This one rattled with a seizure, clawing at his skin and pulling bloody, wet tufts of fur loose as he vomited up frothy bile. Gideon howled again and ran faster into the darkness.
Sorcerous Romanian whore!
***
Varney reached the end. The systemic pattern of switchbacks and cross-sections deliberately cut into the rock so long ago came to this - a single chamber at the end of them all, a rough hewn cavern ending in a granite wall. Now to let them come. He could see the claw marks of men's tools. Some of them still lay around him, corroded and unused. At his feet was an oil lantern. The glass was cracked and the oil was thick and old. It would do.
He bent and scooped up a rotted wooden plank. His shirt, barely clinging to him, was rotten, as well. It gave with a soft tear as he pulled it from his chest. The clamor of a nightmare grew louder in the tunnels behind him. They would find their way here. Ultimately, this was the only way.
He smiled and wrapped the remains of his shirt around the plank. With what was left of the oil in the lantern, he soaked the rags. He walked to the wall and could smell it all - the soil, the stone, the men who had been here decades before. And at the wall he scraped a sharp fingernail. Sparks flew. The torch blazed to life as the first of the wolves entered the chamber.
They stopped, filling every one of the four entry points. Each of them grinned. They growled. They had him. The tunnels behind them crowded with the rest who wanted their chance to eviscerate him, to impress Gideon. He looked over his shoulder and a thousand milky eyes stared back. Their breaths wheezed. Many of them could barely stand. Through the posturing growls, he heard what he'd been waiting for - whimpering, and beneath that, a quiet sizzle, like raw meat on a hot stove. It smelled glorious. He breathed deeply and turned to face them.
Some of them recoiled. He held the torch high and smiled. He wanted them to see his teeth. He wanted them to see him embrace this. Let them know this was exactly what he wanted. One of them at the front shuddered and slumped to the floor. Followed by another. Then another. Their flesh was smoking in thin wafts. The others scurried away from the wounded allies and tried to ignore their own blistering sores.
The crowd in the center tunnel parted. Gideon. He strode forward on his hind legs. His chest was heaving. The hunched, gray beast coughed up a knot of bloody phlegm and spat it on the floor. A chunk of his beard sloughed off and hit the floor. He ignored it. Beside him, a few of his troops whimpered. Gideon pointed a long finger at him. Where there should have been a claw there was now only a raw tip - a raw tip on the end of a completely human hand.
Gideon struggled to speak as Varney smiled at him. "What . . . what have you done?"
Varney looked around. Gideon's army continued to fall. They whined. They moaned. Their lupine growls turned wet and pathetic. Human cries. Human tears. Bones twisted. Muscles grew soft and reshaped themselves. Their wolf-forms dribbled from the bone like hot wax.
Varney wanted to laugh. "I've done nothing, you miserable cur. You followed me here."
Gideon's spine wrenched out of its wolfish stoop. He gripped the cave wall to remain upright. "What is this place?"
Varney tossed the torch to the floor. The orange light threw writhing shadows across the walls. A chorus of agony. Human forms squirmed before him. Fetal. Weak.
The vampire raised the radio from the truck to his lips, never breaking eye contact with Gideon. "Bullet. Now."
Without waiting for a response, he cast aside the radio. It broke into pieces on the rocks. He opened his arms wide and looked at the dozens of nude, wet bodies twitching at his feet, then back up at Gideon. Even as the bones in Gideon's skull moved and popped, Varney could see the fear. "It's a silver mine, you dumb son of a bitch."
***
The voice that came through the radio was ghostly, a faint crackling through hundreds of feet of granite and dirt. It was enough. Bullet turned the key. The engine roared. She slammed her foot down on the gas hard enough to send bolts of pain up her leg. The wheels spun in the dirt and threw up red thunderheads in the brake lights. And the truck was off, barreling away from the cave. Gritted teeth and white-knuckled around the wheel, she braced herself.
BOOM!
The truck jerked to an instant stop. Bullet felt the back wheels fly up from the ground. The impact threw her forward. Her chin slammed into the steering wheel. Hot blood spilled from a fresh gash.
She shook it off and looked back. In the cloud of dust, the tow chain that they'd hidden with dirt and dry brush was still hooked to the mine shaft's crossbeam. The engine shuddered.
"No. No no no."
She gave it gas to resuscitate it. It rattled, but kept breathing. The truck didn't move. At the other end of the anchor, the crossbeam began to buckle. She floored it again. The truck roared and groaned and the crossbeam did the same as the rotted wood began to give. Beneath it, she saw eyes shine in the red glow. One pair. Four pairs. Sick and dripping, they tried to flee the cave. They stood taller as they approached the mouth and the taste of moonlight. They moved faster.
Bullet grimaced and felt herself scream, trying to give the tow truck more strength through sheer will. The engine's roar gave way to a pained whine. She smelled the burning. The truck shook. Somewhere behind her, metal began to give under the strain. Everything shrieked. And with a thunderclap, it happened. The truck pulled free and spun out of control in the dried weeds. She held the wheel, trying to keep from rolling or crashing into a ditch. The ground trembled. The mountainside crashed down. A massive wall of dust exploded from the mouth of the mine as it collapsed.
Bullet straightened out the truck and looked back. The chain dragged a chunk of splintered wood. The dust cloud raced up behind her, overtook her, and filled the cab. She hacked and squinted, trying to see, trying not to stop. The truck hit something hard, lurched to one side, and started to roll. Everything spun into a kaleidoscope of dust, noise, and broken glass.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It was the cool chill she recognized first. Distant, as if seeing a streetlight in the fog. Then there was the antiseptic smell - the smell of chemicals hiding death and blood and disease. Bullet sat up with a start and every inch of her body howled back at her. She rubbed her eyes as the dim room swam into focus. Tubes and wires tugged at her and the familiar drone of the vitals machine kept pace. A hospital. Of sorts.
She sat for a moment, taking it all in. The room was small and dark. Only the spotlight hanging from the low ceiling cast any real light. To her right was a large mirror and a heavy door. From the shadows, she could tell there were people on the other side of the glass. She stared back. Her own reflection showed the toll the battle had taken, and the injuries from the crash. She barely recognized herself beneath the bruises and bandages.
She pushed the rail down, swung her feet over the side, and began to disconnect herself. Every movement set something inside her on fire. Still, she worked quickly, pulling out the iv's and removing the sensors and giving the occasional chilly look up at the two way mirror. Just as her feet touched the ground, the door unlocked and an elderly man in an expensive suit stepped forward. He moved with the delicate grace of royalty, a prim smile in the middle of his wizened face. She hated him already. Ignoring the man, but making sure the thin gown she wore covered anything important, she removed the catheter.
"Ms. Boulet?"
"Where am I?" she asked without looking at him.
"You're safe."
"Not what I asked."
"You're in a secure facility, ma'am. In Tucson, at an office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We have a few questions to ask you about what happened."
<
br /> She cast the catheter tube aside and bit the inside of her check to block out the rest of the pain that cascaded into every extremity. When her eyes met his, he shifted a bit. A half step back. "FBI my ass," she said.
His smile thinned, sharpened. "Fair enough." He motioned to the open door. "Why don't you come with me?"
"How do you know I'm not a werewolf?"
"Our tests are . . . thorough."
"I want some clothes."
***
"Now here I have V-A-R-N-E-Y. Varney. Is that right?"
"I don't know how he spelled it."
"But that is the name he claimed as his own?"
"Sure."
"So he gave you the impression that it was not his actual name?"
"I guess."
"And it was clear that he had encountered the bikers before? And the one he called Gideon?"
"Oh, they knew each other. Not in a friendly way."
"I wouldn't imagine so."
"Ms. Boulet, you're sure that this Varney person is the one who came up from the box that our agent was carrying with him?"
"I told you. I saw him crawl out of it. It was him."
"Who was it that opened the box? Exactly?"
"Dr. Renard."
"Yes, and Dr. Renard was . . . "
"Killed. Just like everyone else. Killed."
"You're sure that all of the bikers followed Mr. Varney down into the silver mine?"
"I didn't do a headcount."
"How many of them would you say there were in total? Roughly."
"Enough to kill every God damned person in town."
"My apologies for the formalities of this investigation, Ms. Boulet. I'm sure that with your history of law enforcement, you can understand the necessity of a process such as this."
"You're not law enforcement. And I never told you that I used to be."
"Just so. Just so. We just have to be very thorough, you understand."
"We've been thorough. And then we were thorough some more. I don't know how long we've been in this room. I don't know how long I've been in this . . . wherever this is. I just know that I've told you. I've told you all of it. I don't know if he was the guy you're looking for. I think he's dead. Maybe? Probably? He was in that mine. That I do know. They all were. I'm sure you and your agents - or whatever the hell you are - have already been out there poking around. But what sticks with me is that this is your guy's fucking fault. It was a quiet day in a small town, a small town I came to for quiet days. And they may not have been the best people. Some of them were pieces of shit, but they were still people and your man fucked up. He fucked up and got them all killed. And you want to sit here and talk to me about it? I'm done talking."
"It's true, Ms. Boulet. Agent Castle did operate outside of protocol. We're dreadfully sorry and quite apologetic on that matter."
"Oh, you're apologizing? What are you going to tell the news? Or the families - or anyone? You going to say 'Sorry we unleashed a bunch of werewolves on the town and got everyone killed?"
"The story being presented to authorities is that there was a natural gas pipeline explosion. The fires ran out of control. Unfortunately, the town of Tribes was directly above this pipeline and there were a tremendous number of casualties."
"And what about me?"
"You? Why you called in sick to work that day. You stayed home that day in your rented house in Colina Vista. You're mourning all of your friends and colleagues and would appreciate it if the media would respect your privacy at this time."
"Oh, that's what I'm going to say?"
"It is. As I said before, we are terribly sorry for the harm that has come to Tribes, as well as your own suffering. We are prepared to compensate you quite well for your pain, as well as your cooperation."
"Oh?"
"Yes. We do have considerable resources at our disposal and want to make sure that your goals are aligned with ours. We want to make sure that you live the rest of your life in peace, with enough security and amenities to forget about that awful day. In fact, the first installment of the payment already sits in your checking account. I think you'll find it . . . significant."
"So you want me to sign something to keep my mouth shut?"
"Oh no. Any violation of our agreement will be dealt with outside of judicial means."
"Yeah."
"We're also assigning one of our best assets to protect you, to watch over you in case some unsavory elements want to seek you out for retribution or what have you."
"I don't need a bodyguard."
"Our best assets, Ms. Boulet. You won't even know he's there."
"No."
"I'm not asking."
"I'm leaving now."
"I think we've concluded our business here. If you remember anything else, or if you happen to encounter Mr. Varney in the future, I trust that you'll contact us immediately."
"Right."
"Let me arrange for a car to take you home."
"I'll take the bus."
***
Bullet tried not to limp. She held her head high and her jaw firm. She knew they watched her go and, if they were good to their word, would be watching her from here on out. She eyed the few cars on the mostly empty street in an industrial, decaying portion of Tucson and noticed that more than one of them was a shiny, black SUV.
Real subtle, she thought and kept her stride quick even as sharp pangs rattled her ribcage and lanced up and down her left leg. It was beneath the fog of the painkillers they'd given her, but she still felt it, stabbing at her through the dull throb. The clothes they'd outfitted her with - gray sweatpants, gray sweatshirt, fresh, white Nikes - were comfy enough. She walked down the street in the cool night air with only a vague idea of where she was. She'd exited what looked like an abandoned apartment complex after the old man and other men in suits escorted her through dimly lit hallways. They said their pleasant goodbyes, but their gazes reminded her of Gideon and his pack, and the grip he kept on her elbow was one of control. Once she was out, she just walked. It didn't matter where. Just away. She felt their eyes on her back, coming from the apartment building, from the tinted windows of the SUVs, and from the bushes. Maybe she always would. Had the SUV on the left side of the street been sitting idle, with its lights off? Had it rolled quietly after her, headlights dark, when she rounded the corner?
Mother fuckers, she thought and quietly wished that she did know where Varney - or whoever he was - had gone.
She knew he wasn't dead. No, the way he carried himself, the way he spoke - that kind of man didn't go down willingly. And she suspected he'd been through far worse than that night. No, Varney was still out there. He was alive. They certainly didn't find his remains in the cave. They wouldn't have asked her so many damned times. Not that she'd ever see him again, but if she did -
Another car. This one was a black, Lincoln town car, parked under the awning of a dark gas station. She paused and stared, not caring if they knew that she knew. They couldn't follow her all the time. The thought crossed her mind to go over there, drag the driver out from behind the wheel, put her foot up his ass, and drive the car home. What were they going to do? Go to the police?
As she walked past the gas station, she could hear the idling of the engine. The back, driver's side door opened slowly, seemingly on its own, and there it was. The chill. Dread tittered up the back of her neck and set her nerve endings alight. It emanated from the car and she felt it crawl over her. Fear. Sickness. Rage. Exhilaration.
She stopped. The inside of the car was oily black, opaque and alive.
Bullet smiled.
About The Author
Jason Murphy is new to the prose fiction world with his first publication, Homunculus, in Sinister Grin's anthology, Fresh Meat.
He can also be seen as the co-host of Hacking the System on the National Geographic channel.
jasonsmurphy.com
Coming Soon
Children of the Dark by Jonathan Janz
Zyne
Project by Sara Brooke
Mayan Blue by Melissa Garza and Michelle Lason
Find these and other horrific books at www.sinistergrinpress.com
Table of Contents
THE BLACK GOAT MOTORCYCLE CLUB
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
About The Author
Coming Soon
The Black Goat Motorcycle Club Page 21