Tamed

by Douglas R. Brown

  “We’re at the residence and no one is coming to the door. Do you have a call-back number or any more information?”

  “That’s a negative. Came from the alarm company.”

  “Alright. Notify PD that we’re going to force entry.”

  “You’re clear, Medic 22. Forcing entry. We’ll let PD know. Just a heads up, they’ll be awhile. They’re pretty busy and backed up on calls.”

  Of course, Christine groaned inwardly.

  Billy hopped from the porch and headed toward the side of the house. Christine knew how much he enjoyed breaking doors and windows. To her surprise, instead of retrieving an ax from the truck, he said, “I’ll try a window first. Maybe it’ll be unlocked.” His pocket flashlight’s beam disappeared beyond the side of the house. Christine waited on the porch. She peered through the frosted glass of the small windows along the side of the door. It was no use—nothing moved. She rang the doorbell again.

  While she waited for Billy to come back around, she turned and watched the tree line and the road. Part of her watched for movements within the trees, but mostly she hoped for headlights revealing an oncoming police cruiser. She was too old to worry about slasher movie killers bursting from the forest, but that didn’t ease her fears.

  After being gone for what felt like forever, Billy sprang from the side of the house.

  “No luck,” he blurted.

  Her heart skipped a beat and she jerked around with a shriek. “Billy,” she snapped in a loud whisper, “You scared the hell out of me.”

  Unfazed, he jogged to the medic, returned with a flathead ax, and brushed past her.

  “You’re jumpy tonight,” he said. “Relax. It’s probably just some rich old bag who fell going to the pot and can’t get up.” With both hands clenched around the middle of the ax handle, he drew it back along his hip. He gave her a coy smile and tilted his head slightly, like he always did before he blasted someone’s front door from its hinges. Perhaps it was his way of lessening Christine’s guilt in the destruction.

  Christine shielded her eyes. Billy crashed the ax against the door inches below the decorative wrought iron handle. Then again, and a third time, before the wood frame splintered and the door sprang open. “Fire Department,” he yelled as he stepped into the dark living room, cocky and fearless. Christine followed closely behind. She fumbled along the wall until she found the light switch and flipped it. The room remained as dark as a tomb. Billy pointed his nearly worthless pocket light into the room, illuminating an end table with a lamp on it. He bounced the flashlight beam at the lamp to get her attention.

  “Alright,” she whispered. “I got it.”

  She took a step toward the lamp, but Billy grabbed her shoulder, stopping her cold. “Wait,” he whispered. She froze.

  He tugged on her shoulder, causing her to stumble back a step.

  She glanced back. “What is it?”

  His eyes were wide and fixed on something at the opposite side of the room. The intensity on his face frightened her and her breath quivered. She had never seen Billy so panicked. Slowly, she turned her head and followed his gaze. For a millisecond her legs weakened and her knees gave out, but she composed herself before she fell. “Oh, my God,” she whispered under her breath.

  Two bright green eyes glowed in the blackness beyond the lamp.

  “Shhhhhh,” Billy cautioned. “Just back out through the door.”

  The glowing eyes in the darkness reminded her of the werg infomercial she had just seen and she knew without a doubt what waited in the corner. Her stomach turned.

  She lifted her foot to take a step backward, and a low growl filled the room. She froze.

  The green eyes lifted.

  Billy directed the flashlight’s beam past the lamp and onto a fur-covered leg. With the beam, he followed the contour of the beast upward until it shined onto the creature’s snout. The werg snarled, exposing its clenched teeth. Red-tinged drool hung from its jowl. Billy lowered the beam to the beast’s thick chest. Christine put her hand to her mouth. The beast’s fur was matted with red plasma and chunks of flesh.

  The beast crouched. Billy’s hand slipped from Christine’s shoulder and for a split second she felt more alone than ever before. The beast snarled again.

  Billy whispered, “Run.”

  The creature pounced. Billy grabbed Christine’s shoulders and yanked her out of its path. She crashed against the hardwood floor. The creature slammed against him, bashing him against the wall. Billy grunted. His flashlight rolled along the floor.

  Christine scurried toward the doorway. The creature howled from behind.

  Oh, God. Billy!

  “Run, Christine,” Billy shouted again before the creature swatted him against the wall, knocking him unconscious. The flashlight settled on the ground, its beam breaking the darkness and highlighting the creature as it closed in on her retreat.

  She gasped.

  The beast roared.

  The werg’s claws scraped along the hardwood floor as it scrambled for footing. Christine froze again, fearing what was coming next. The beast leaped. She dropped from her hands and knees and pressed her face to the cold floor with her arms over her head. The creature soared past her, crashing against the broken front door.

  Christine peeked from between her arms. The werg shook his head, stunned by the impact. This was her chance. She bounced to her feet and ran in the opposite direction toward a distant door. In the dark, she rammed her shin against the end table, knocking it over and sending her crashing to the floor along with the lamp. Pain shot through her leg; fear shot through her brain.

  The creature roared.

  “Billy,” she cried. He didn’t answer.

  The creature’s claws scraped along the floor as he lunged for her again. She reached out, grabbing for something, anything, to use as a weapon, and her hand brushed across the lamp shade. She ripped it free, fumbled with the base until she found the switch, and turned it on. The bulb illuminated the darkness as the monster dove toward her. His teeth and claws glistened in the light. Christine grabbed the base of the lamp and swung it with all of her might. The bulb shattered against the creature’s snout. The beast crashed to the ground with a yelp.

  Christine dropped to her rear and scrambled backward until she struck a wall. She reached back to brace herself and realized it wasn’t a wall, but the door she was running for before colliding with the table. The creature’s green eyes searched for her again. She fumbled above her head for the door knob. By sheer luck, she found it.

  The werewolf scratched at the floor with his front claw like a bull about to charge. Christine turned the knob, fell into a carpeted hallway, and kicked the door shut behind her. She twisted the lock at the same instant the beast grabbed the handle on the opposite side. He shook the knob like he understood how handles worked and roared his frustration. She wondered why he didn’t break through the door, but concluded he hadn’t lost all his obedience training, even if it was something as silly as not destroying his owner’s property. Christine flipped on the lights, thankful that they worked at all. She ran down the hall to another door and slipped through it into a bedroom. As she slammed the door shut behind her, the door at the end of the hall burst from its hinges. So much for not wanting to damage its owners’ house.

  Her heart sank at the sight of an elderly couple on the red-stained carpet. The man was missing an arm, while the woman had a gaping hole in her neck. Christine could tell by the lack of movement in their chests and the amount of coagulated blood surrounding them that both of the victims were dead.

  She reached for her radio, but it wasn’t on her hip. She pictured it lying beside where Billy pushed her to the floor.

  She ran to the window and tried to pry it open. At the same time, the door exploded from its hinges. She spun around. Standing in the doorway, the beast huffed in obvious frustration.

  “Please,” she whispered. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Just let me go.”

  The creatu
re tilted his head to the side as though he understood her, even sympathized with her.

  But that sympathy vanished in a flash, and he leaped forward with murder in his savage eyes. Christine dove between the bed and the wall, out of her attacker’s path, but the beast’s claw raked along her thigh. Blood sprayed from her wound before she hit the ground. The beast shattered the window with his head and yelped. He spun around with a vicious snarl and a bloody shard of glass protruding from the side of his neck.

  Christine scurried against the wall. The werg dropped to all fours and stalked closer to her. He flung the bed against the far wall like it was weightless. She pulled her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. The murderous creature’s rank breath beat against her face.

  She pulled her head away from its stink until she was flat on her back on the carpet with the beast straddled over her. The werg tilted his head back and howled victoriously. Christine stared up at his thick neck where blood spurted from around the piece of window glass still wedged in his throat. He shook away the blood like a dog would shake off bath water, and the blood spattered across her cheek. The beast lowered his snout toward her face. She closed her eyes tight and let loose a scream that could probably be heard for miles.

  His warm blood poured from his neck onto her face and into her open mouth. She gagged and choked on the salty goo. She turned her head from side-to-side, trying to escape the blood, but there was too much of it. She choked and dry-heaved. This was it. After all of the fires and sticky situations she had been in on the medic, this was how she was going to die.

  For a moment, a strange, warm feeling washed over her and she realized it was acceptance of her violent fate. She wondered why she wasn’t more terrified than she was. But then she realized why. It wasn’t the acceptance of death, not entirely, but anger when she thought of Billy and what this creature was going to do to him. Each puff of the werg’s rotten breath struck her like the deepest insult. “Go ahead, monster,” she whispered. “Kill me. Get it over with.”

  Then she opened her eyes with blatant distain. The creature leaned his jagged teeth to her exposed neck. She swallowed hard. She wasn’t going to give the beast any more satisfaction by showing her fear.

  Warm saliva dripped onto her neck. She cringed, but held strong. He lunged for the kill. An explosion of light filled the room, stopping him before his fatal strike. He rose to his rear legs and turned his head toward the window and the blinding light. Another light blasted through the shattered bedroom doorway and was followed by several men shouting.

  The creature roared with vengeful hate and backed toward the corner of the room.

  Christine stretched toward the bed and pulled a sheet down to scrub the nastiness from her face. The bitter taste of the creature’s blood coated her mouth and tongue. In between dry heaves, she spit what she could into the sheet.

  “Kill that bastard,” one of the voices screamed from just outside the doorway.

  The creature snarled and bared his teeth like a cornered dog.

  A single gunshot rang out. Every muscle in Christine’s body flinched. The creature howled and roared again. Another shot rang out, followed by another. Blood splattered the wall behind the creature with each blast of their weapons. The beast turned away from the onslaught, unable to escape the bullets. Cornered, with chunks of his flesh ripping free of his body, he had no other choice than to charge his attackers.

  From the living room, a man’s agonized scream ended in wet gurgles. Christine wanted to get off the floor and check on Billy, but a stranger carrying some type of assault rifle climbed through the window next to her.

  “Wait here,” the stranger said and chased the beast into the living room.

  More shots exploded outside the bedroom door. Their deafening bursts grew muffled and distant as the men chased the beast from the house. Christine reached for the window sill and pulled herself to her feet. The gunfire slowed and stopped.

  The blinding spotlight that had illuminated the room moments before shifted from the window and moved toward the trees. Shadows of men scrambled behind the creature as he staggered toward the woods.

  The men were relentless in their pursuit, but the beast wouldn’t fall. Instead, to her amazement, the creature went down on all fours and galloped toward the forest again. One of the men barked orders. Christine strained to hear them, but only caught his last three words.

  “Release the savages,” he said. Then he turned toward her as if he had been aware she was at the window all along. Though a part of her wanted to duck and hide, something about him held her gaze. As he came toward her, a plain black van approached along the road from behind him. The van fishtailed in the gravel driveway, narrowly missing the medic. With the van’s rear pointed toward the trees, the back doors swung open.

  The world went quiet for what seemed like an eternity. Then, like bullets, two powerful werewolves rocketed from the rear of the van and disappeared into the tree line.

  The stranger continued toward her. For some reason, maybe woman’s intuition, Christine wanted to run. She wondered how it was that she could be so afraid of someone who was there to help her. He clearly wasn’t the enemy, but something felt wrong. And where the hell were the police?

  The stranger spoke as he neared the window. “Everything is alright now,” he said. His voice was soothing. Calm. Fake.

  Christine turned away and sat on the floor beneath the sill with her back against the wall. The stranger reached through the shattered window and touched her shoulder. She flinched.

  “You are safe now,” he said. She didn’t believe him. “I’m going to come in through the front. Wait here and I’ll explain everything to you.” Then his hand lifted from her shoulder and he was gone.

  After another moment, he appeared at the bedroom door. He picked a splintered piece of wood from the doorframe, examined it curiously, and then dropped it to the floor. He righted a floor lamp and switched it on. His deceitful smile glowed in the lamplight. He wore all black like a SWAT officer, though she had seen enough cops to know he definitely wasn’t one. His pants were baggy and lined with bulging pockets. His belt held a holstered gun along with several flash grenades. A strap crossed his chest from his left shoulder to his right hip. As she looked closer, she could see that it belonged to a larger gun held tight against his back. He reached his hand out. “You are one lucky girl,” he said. “Come with me. I’ll get you help.”

  Christine hesitated, still unsure of whether to trust him or not.

  “I won’t harm you.” He retrieved a long, narrow piece of fabric from one of his many pant pockets and leaned closer. She pulled her wounded leg against her chest, but he followed her movements with his hands. “You didn’t get bitten, did you?” he asked as he wrapped the fabric around her bleeding thigh. She didn’t fight him.

  “No,” she answered with a shaky voice. “I don’t think so.”

  “What about this wound? Not a bite?”

  “His claws,” she answered.

  “Ahhh.” He smiled. “My name is Greg,” he said, and held out his gloved hand. “I’m a hunter of sorts.”

  She lifted her trembling hand. His grip was strong and cold. He helped her to her feet. She realized how badly her body was shaking and tried unsuccessfully to stop the tremors. He pulled a blanket from the overturned bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” he said. “This area is crawling with rabid coyotes, and you have unfortunately come across a pack of them.”

  She leaned back, shaking her head. No, no, not coyotes. What was he talking about? “I ... I thought ....”

  “You thought what?”

  “It’s just ... it wasn’t coyotes. It was a—”

  He didn’t let her finish. “Sure it was coyotes. My team is tracking them as we speak. This isn’t the first time this has happened out here. We’ve been trying to eliminate the threat for quite some time now.”

  Christine pushed away from him. He seemed to stare
through her soul as she limped toward the doorway. Another man dressed like the first appeared from the living room and cut off her path. Greg nodded to the man and then to her.

  “You’re hysterical. It’s okay. We have something to help you.”

  Christine shook her head and backed past Greg and to the wall next to the broken window again. “St-stay away from me,” she stammered.

  The second stranger approached.

  “It’s going to be alright,” he said and reached for her wrist.

  “You both keep saying that,” she snapped and yanked her hand away. A third stranger entered from the doorway and moved closer as if scripted. Greg reached for her again. She slapped his chest, but he snatched her wrist, his false politeness gone from his face. She struggled in his grip, but he was too strong. The other stranger grabbed her legs and the two men lowered her to the floor as she fought back with kicks and scratches.

  Greg held her with one hand and removed a syringe-full of clear fluid from his breast pocket with the other.

  “Wait,” she screamed. “Why are you doing this?”

  He leaned in. “I’m saving your life.”

  “But the werewo—I mean the coyotes are gone.”

  “Not from the coyotes.”

  One of the other two men extended her left arm and held it outward. She strained and grunted, but her fight was in vain. Greg pulled the cap from the syringe with his teeth. As she struggled, he jammed the needle into her arm.

  He let go of her and stood up. The other man freed her legs and all three of them backed away.

  A sudden rush of nausea filled her. She pushed to her feet, glaring hatefully at her assailants. She had never been drugged before, or at least not that she remembered. The men seemed to sway, but she realized it wasn’t they who wobbled. She stumbled toward the doorway. They moved from her path. She staggered and lost her balance. Her shoulder slammed against the doorframe, but she didn’t fall. She stumbled down the hallway to the front room.

  There were more men with lights and guns. They watched as she fought to keep her footing on the spinning floor. Exhausted, with painfully heavy eyelids, she collapsed to the floor. She lifted her head against the increasing weight of the air and focused past the men. Across the room lay two or three limp coyote carcasses.