by Ryan Calejo
What is up with these dudes? I thought, fighting the urge to look back. Okay, fine. So they got punked by an overall-wearing klepto with a seashell pipe. Stuff happens. But that doesn’t give them the right to start shooting at people!
As we reached the near corner, where a set of train tracks ran through town, I finally couldn’t fight it anymore, and I glanced back but couldn’t pick out any of the trigger-happy psychos in the scramble of bodies. Then another volley of gunfire ripped through the air—at least ten or fifteen guns going off almost in unison.
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?” Violet shrieked, looking back.
“Dey not shootin’ at us!” Saci cried. “They shootin’ at dem!”
He was staring past me, off to my left, and following his gaze, I saw the first of them—a huge, hulking shadow racing along the rooftops, its fierce, bright eyes like twin laser beams against the darkening desert sky.
And worse? Those eyes were looking right at us. Looking right at me.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Watch out!” Violet screamed as another lobisomem leapt down from somewhere overhead, landing in the road in front of us, cutting us off.
It threw back its head with a howl that turned my blood to ice. Then it snarled at me, fangs bared, and lunged—
Time slowed. A million and one panicky thoughts raced through my mind:
Ay, mi Madre!
I’m so dead.
Dude, do something!
RUUUUUUUUUUNNN!
My body, however, was scared stiff. Frozen like a snowman in winter.
Before I could react, the werewolf was flying through the air at me, massive razor-tipped claws rising, preparing to slash—but Saci was faster.
He shot out a hand and shouted, “Açúcar!” and a whirlwind funneled down out of the cloudless sky, lifting the werewolf off its feet and sending it crashing through the display window of the bakery across the street. The wolf tumbled through about half a dozen full-size baker’s racks, sending doughnuts, bagels, baguettes, and a whole mess of other freshly baked goodies flying as shards of glass rained down around it.
My eyes, still jacked wide with fear, flew to Saci. Had he just saved my life? Again? “Dude, thanks!”
He grinned at me, but it was a weak sort of smile. Beads of sweat had popped out on his forehead, and his usually bright eyes were dim and unfocused.
“Not sure I can do that again, irmão,” he choked out, which wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, because right then another wailing howl pierced the night, and I looked back to see a literal army of lobisomem—hundreds, if not thousands, of werewolves—charging toward us, bounding over the sidewalks and streets and trampling anyone in their path as they fanned out across the town like a swarm of locusts. Their yipping and braying echoed around us like ghostly laughter.
More gunfire rang out. I could see the silhouette of bodies being tossed around in the air like rag dolls. And I didn’t need to be a lycanthropologist to know they’d overrun the town in a matter of minutes.
We only had one move.
“V, give me Saci’s gorra!” I shouted.
“Huh?”
“His cap! Give it to me!”
She dug into her bag and handed it over, and I had to grimace against its brutal stench. Gosh, it was almost like that thing was smelling worse, somehow.
“What are you thinking?” Violet wanted to know.
“They’re after me, remember? I’m going to lead them away from you guys and everyone else. Meet me in the restaurant up the street. Paco’s!”
Violet shouted, “Charlie, are you sure?” but I was already moving, already darting into the side street to our left—and then I was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
The howls seemed to chase me, growing louder, closer. Shapes and shadows flitted along the rooftops. They stretched long across the sides of buildings, over the streets and storefronts. The town was officially crawling with lobisomem; I could feel them lurking around every corner, gaining on me block by block, herding me, corralling me, forcing me right to where they wanted me. Or so they thought.
I ran flat out, flying down one side street, then another. The paths between buildings got narrower, the smooth brick walls seeming to hem me in as they twisted and turned like a maze. Shouts of terror came from every direction.
My pounding footsteps bounced off the walls as I raced around another corner, then cut across a side street somewhere on the edge of town.
Soon I lost all sense of direction and found myself running through an abandoned parking lot behind an even more abandoned-looking warehouse topped with a red-and-white striped smokestack.
There was a large grassy field bordered by a fence to my right and a couple of warehouses with an alley running between them to my left. I chose left and had just run past a row of trash cans when I heard a low, vicious growl behind me. I froze. Behind me, a pack of lobisomem was stalking up the side street, the entire pack creeping in the shadows, only those glowing red eyes clearly visible. Gulp. And there were even more peering down hungrily at me from the ledge of every rooftop in sight.
Probably three times as many. Double gulp.
I couldn’t wait for them to make their move. So I made mine, slipping behind the trash cans, pulling on Saci’s cap, and watching my arms and legs—along with the rest of me—vanish completely out of sight before taking off down the alley.
I made it just as one of the wolves sprang down from overhead in a blind attempt to cut me off. And it would’ve gotten me too, if there hadn’t been a tree in the way, a tree growing right up through the pavement by the mouth of the alley. I hadn’t even noticed it until that very moment, and apparently neither had the lobisomem, because it slammed straight into it, the werewolf’s arms wrapping around the branches heavy with clusters of beautiful red flowers almost in an embrace.
For a split second, I thought, Whoa, that tree looks familiar! And in that same split second another thought struck me, one that made me feel a little bit stupid for thinking it: Isn’t that the exact same tree I saw back on Cabana Mesa Hill?
But it wasn’t like I had time to stop and stare—or even to think very much about it—because the rest of the werewolves were already after me, their claws scrabbling over the sidewalks and rooftops as they chased the sound of my pounding feet. I knew that was the only way they could track me now—by the sound of my footsteps (smell was probably out of the question thanks to the stink of Saci’s cap)—so I ran into a wide-open area of town where the sound would be harder to make out and started zigzagging my way up the shop-lined street, alternating between tiptoe and heel running to make it even harder to lock in on me. And it worked. By the time I reached the far end, my lungs were burning and my legs felt like pastelitos, like they were filled with cream cheese and guava, but there wasn’t a single lobisomem in sight.
Now to get the heck out of this place.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
Paco’s restaurant had apparently been evacuated (maybe earlier this week with the wave of zombie fear that had probably swept over the town or maybe more recently with the howl of hungry werewolves echoing through the streets), but I found Violet and Saci hiding out in the kitchen, Saci snacking on a big bag of tortilla chips and queso. I pushed through the swing door, and the moment I took off the cap, Violet shouted, “Charlie!” She rushed over, throwing her arms around me, and all I could do was smile. “Looks like you owe me a World Cup trophy,” she said, glancing back at Saci.
He tossed another chip into his mouth. “I know… I know. Don’ gotta rub it in, okay?”
I was shaking my head. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Saci wanted to bet on whether you’d get eaten or not. I won.”
I grinned at her. “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said. But my grin quickly faded as I became aware of a low clicking sound coming from the dining room. Balancing up on my toes, I peered through the little window—and saw another lobisomem. An enormous gray-black
one with its nose low to the ground and those glowing red eyes searching. There was a rainbow of colorful sprinkles stuck to its front paws, two streaks of whitish icing smeared across its furry side (which for some reason made me think of racing stripes), and half a jelly doughnut dangling from its large and rather hairy behind. Realizing this was the werewolf Saci had sent flying through the window of the little pastry shop, I almost burst out laughing. Almost. What I actually did, though, was freeze. V and I both did. But behind us, Saci didn’t. Instead, he obeyed his tummy and slipped a hand into the bag of tortilla chips, making a soft crinkling sound.
Violet glared at him, mouthed, STOP!
Saci nodded all right, all right, then popped a tortilla chip into his mouth.
Crunnnnnchhhh!
The lobisomem’s head snapped in our direction.
Violet and I immediately ducked out of sight.
If we’d had a couple of seconds to spare, I think I would’ve really enjoyed strangling our little tortilla-loving comrade—only we didn’t. Already I could hear the werewolf’s claws clinking on the glassy tiles as it made its way toward the kitchen to investigate. We had five seconds, maybe six.
I glanced frantically around, searching for an exit, but I didn’t see any; there were no holes in the walls, nothing leading up to any windows we could escape through.
Just rows and rows of stainless-steel cabinets.
So many stupid cabinets and not a single place to hi—
“I have an idea!” I whispered. I whipped around to face the cabinet at my back, the low one on the center island, and began to roll it open, praying that there wouldn’t be any loud squeals from the wheels. There weren’t, and once I’d gotten it all the way open, I gestured for Violet and Saci to crawl inside, and the three of us quickly piled in.
If only this thing came equipped with a dead bolt and a panic bar, we might still be breathing in two minutes.
Saci nudged me with his elbow. “Where’d the lobo go?”
Ignoring him, I peered through a narrow slit between the doors. The slit gave me a pretty good look at the door to the kitchen and the dining area beyond, but I didn’t see any werewolf. I held my breath, listening hard. Nada. No soft padding of paws, no claws clicking on the tiles. Where the heck did it go…?
I scooted to my left, my face still pressed against the gap, trying to get a better angle into the dining room—
And my world stopped.
I didn’t get a better angle into the dining room.
What I got was an eyeful of snarling werewolf.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
The word “terrifying” didn’t even begin to describe this thing—and that’s when it had been a safe distance away (if there even was such a thing as a safe distance when dealing with bloodthirsty lobisomem). But up close and personal? Well, there really weren’t words. The thing’s head must’ve been the size of a grizzly’s, covered with matted fur the color of dirty snow. Its fangs were as long as my forearms and twice as thick. Long ribbons of milky drool dribbled from the corners of its snarling mouth, and its eyes glowed like burning logs. Not one of us dared to move. We didn’t even dare breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the werewolf raise its fang-lined snout and sniffle at the stale kitchen air. Then it lowered its head and began to sniff about, nose pressed to the cabinets, its furry sprinkles-checkered brow wrinkled in a sort of furious concentration. I held my breath. My blood roared in my ears. Beads of sweat broke out all over my arms and chest. Go nose deaf! Go nose deaf! Please, oh please, oh please, go nose deaf! That was pretty much the only thing running through my head at that moment. I was trying to think it into happening. But my psychic game obviously wasn’t on point because I suddenly saw the thing’s eyes light up like it had picked up a scent—and almost certainly mine!
I was pretty sure things were about as bad as they could get. I mean, here we were trapped in a steel box with about a dozen square-shaped openings all around us and less than half an inch of flimsy metal separating us from a ravenous, five-hundred-pound, man-eating werewolf who was currently very intent on having the three of us as an early dinner. But then things got even worse when said five-hundred-pound, ravenous man-eater began pawing and scratching at the drawer directly in front of me, rolling it back inch by terrifying inch.
Had I thrown up right then I wouldn’t have been too surprised. After all, there’s only so much fear the human body can take. But there wasn’t any excuse—at least not that I could come up with—for what Saci did next. He didn’t scream or whimper or even close his eyes and send up a string of emergency prayers. Quite the opposite. Saci—ever the prankster—decided that now would be a great time to make a funny and began emptying an extra-large bottle of ketchup over the top of my head. Guess he wanted to die the way he lived. The interesting thing, though, I was having a hard time holding it against him.… He was, after all, about to become something’s snack. We all were. But then—and this part nearly blew my mind—Violet joined in, basically doing the exact same thing! She had a squeeze bottle of some yellow hot-dog mustard in her hand and was squirting it over my legs, my shoulders, and across the front of my T-shirt. Now, this I didn’t get. I mean, what were they thinking? That a food fight would be a great way to go? I had just started to wonder if this were all some twisted joke—if I were actually trapped in some sort of bizarre nightmare, when I finally understood what they were doing: They were trying to mask my scent!
Quick! Violet mouthed. Put the cap on!
I barely had time to do just that before the lobisomem (whose giant dome of a head was way too big to fit into the smallish square-shaped opening) jammed his furry, teeth-choked muzzle into the cabinet. His huge black knob of a nose came within an inch of mine—maybe less—then stopped as the rest of its head butted up against the cabinet. I held my breath. The wolf did the opposite: It began to suck in deep, snuffling breaths. I felt all the tiny little hairs on my cheeks and ears get suddenly pulled forward. Panic surged up in me like a soda bomb, but I forced myself to sit perfectly, absolutely still. My eyes were half shut with dread, but they were still open enough for me to see the wolf’s lower jaw unhinge slightly.
A long, purple tongue slid out from between its rows of glistening teeth to sample the orangey (and probably pretty tasty) puddle of ketchup and mustard that had run together in the hollow above my collarbone. Immediately my toes began to curl, my fingers tightened into fists, and it was a small miracle that I didn’t gasp or scream or just flat out jump out of my skin! But did the freakish, sauce-loving, tickle-monster stop there? Not even close. It began to lick. And lick. And lick. And for some weird reason the only words running through my panicking, terrified brain were: How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?
But the worst part, I WAS THAT TOOTSIE POP!
The lobisomem’s flavor-taster was rough and warm and wet and sent a shiver through me as it dragged back and forth across my face, lapping up the rivers of sauce. Its low snarling turned into a sort of pleased humming, and its wrinkled gray muzzle pulled back in almost a half smile.
The facts were in: Choosy lobisomem choose JIF—er, ketchstard! I mean, the thing loved it!
Beside me, Saci was shaking with silent laughter. Violet, meanwhile, couldn’t have looked more terrified. Her face had gone completely pale, and her eyes were so big I thought they were about to pop.
A moment later the lobisomem began to shake its head, sending ribbons of drool flying in every direction as it backed its snout out of the cabinet.
And as it turned and started back toward the dining room, I felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of relief sweep through me, and I did a mental fist bump: us—one, werewolves—zero.
My eyes flicked over to Violet and Saci, and I saw that now they both had their hands clasped over their mouths, trying to hold back laughter.
I took off the cap to glare at them—and suddenly it was too much.
Saci let out the faintest of giggles. Heh!
I felt my heart stop. Violet stiffened.
I started to raise a finger to my lips, but it was too late. Saci let out another, this one longer than the first and much, much louder. Heh-heh!
My blood froze. My world froze.
In the doorway of the kitchen, the lobisomem froze.
Its rear legs tensed. Its ears perked up.
I thought, No, please. PLEASE! And quickly slapped Saci’s cap back on just as the lobisomem swung its giant head around to look straight at me.
It knew I was here.
Even if it couldn’t see—or smell—me.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE
Suddenly the lobisomem lunged. All I saw was a blur of grayish fur, and then the werewolf slammed against the edge of the island, making the entire thing jump as it tried to force its head into the rectangular opening. Its jaws slobbered and snapped. Ribbons of drool flew everywhere. The werewolf whipped its head viciously from side to side, crumpling the stainless-steel cabinets and lifting one corner of the island almost a foot off the floor. Metal groaned. Wooden support beams bent and popped above us. The top of the island bucked inward as I scrambled out through the cabinet on the other end, Violet and Saci already bolting ahead of me.
We made it through the kitchen door before the lobisomem could yank its head out of the cabinet, and Violet held the door closed as Saci and I dragged a table over, creating a makeshift blockade. Now, did I think some ten-pound table was going to slow down a legendary half-ton man-beast? Not even a little. But something was better than nothing, right?
“C’mon!” Violet shouted. We raced out the front of Paco’s, the shrill sound of tearing metal and crashing tables chasing us from inside the restaurant as we spilled into the busy street. I didn’t even have time to look around, to ask any of the running, screaming people which way the wolves had gone, before a terrible howl ripped through the night. I turned and felt my heart crawl into my throat.