“You should hear them out,” Dave repeated. He crossed his arms in hopes it would hide his shaking hands.
Conall threw a long, arching shot with his right fist but Dave got his elbow up and it glanced off. As the shouting started Conall threw a quick left hand to Dave’s stomach and caught him, forcing him to the ground gasping for air.
“I can beat you here or there,” Conall said, glancing toward the woods behind the hotel. Dave took advantage of the momentary loss of eye contact by getting his legs under him and pushing off, hard, catching Conall with a shoulder to the lower chest and taking him down. The men started rolling on the ground, Dave more on the defensive than not.
“You … fucking … dirty fighter!” Conall yelled between blows. Dilly noticed his voice getting a little deeper and started to worry and the others gathered around, trying to figure out when and if they needed to jump in. Dilly backed away, slowly so his mother wouldn’t notice, and started for the back of the hotel, never losing sight of his father, who was now on the end of an ass-kicking.
“Basketball, basketball, basketball,” Dilly chanted to himself, trying not to hear his father gasp and yelp in pain.
Dilly wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing and sure as hell hadn’t given it much thought, but he knew what was about to happen. He knew he had to help and the only way to make any sort of difference, to help his dad, to save his grandpa, to be the man he wanted to be, was to do this. It only made sense, so much sense that thought would have only gotten into the way. The tall teenager, strapping and shaking and scared and tired, shut his eyes and tried to focus.
The second he got hold of the memory, of being hungry for the defeat of another and feeling the rush of wanting blood, the impact knocked him off his feet and onto his back. He had made it to the grass and he physically forced himself to a kneeling position and yelled the only word he could think to yell, the only word that would get the Irishman to stop beating his father and tearing apart his family.
“ALPHA!” he yelled. The deep, guttural sound that came out of Dilly’s mouth sounded absolutely badass and only puffed the boy up a bit more.
Conall was already showing signs of transformation, though muted. His eyes had started to change and hair had begun to sprout but he was still a human, still kicking Dave in the legs and ribs. A gash had opened on one side of Dave’s head and a long scratch mark on his neck was bleeding enough to stain his shirt.
“Dilly … Dilly.” Josie realized what was happening and started running toward her son. He was just twenty yards away or so and was not moving, but by the time she turned around and had covered less than half the distance she felt a whoosh beside her as the Irish Wolf blew past her on his way to destroy her child.
The Young Wolf’s transformation wasn’t complete by the time the Irish Wolf tackled him, taking him all the way from the mowed and tended lawn at the back of the hotel parking lot into the woods. The pack ran over and saw nothing but rustling leaves and the sound of snapping wood, brittle and dry in mid-fall weather. Soon those sounds were accompanied by chatter and sobbing and the anguished cry of a mother in a complete panic over her son.
Once they were out of sight the Irish Wolf, as was the way of his people, stood aside and let his opponent finish his transformation.
“This … is the only … mercy … you get,” the Irish Wolf growled.
The part of Dilly’s brain that would comprehend language was no longer functioning but as the Young Wolf found his footing and slowly rose to all fours, he understood. This was not a tussle or a row, a match or a contest. This was about blood and fangs.
And he was ready.
Immediately the Young Wolf bolted in the direction of some thick foliage, away from the road and the hotel and the crying mother. He had guessed, correctly, that speed would be his weapon and size would be his defense. The wolves were not evenly matched in terms of size with the Young Wolf standing taller than the Irish Wolf, but just barely. Not that it mattered. The Young Wolf felt stronger than his first time out and the fear, confusion, grief and rage he had inside him had informed his transformation, sharpening him, making him bloom into a bloody flower made of the guts of his enemies. He ran, sensing the Irish Wolf behind him but knowing he could run as long as he needed and avoid the fight. He was younger and he was faster and he could run and run and run. That was not what he wanted to do.
Remembering his failure when chasing the deer, the Young Wolf was able to pivot on his new paws and start leading his pursuer in a long, arching turn. He had no idea where he was going but knew water wasn’t far and his instincts were telling him to get there. His conscious mind flashed, ever so briefly, on the image of his father telling him something while they were both in a pond and then rocketed back to the terrain in front of him. He dodged and evaded, he weaved and launched himself. The pleasure of the run was not lost on the Young Wolf, but he did not like being chased.
The stream quickly came up in front of him and at full speed the Young Wolf leapt over the water, turned his body around and caught himself in a crouching position on the other end of the bank. The Irish Wolf was not even a second behind him. In one fluid motion, the Young Wolf caught himself on the bank and launched himself in the air, meeting the Irish Wolf in air and landing with a thud and a snarl in the center of the stream.
The Young Wolf’s instincts served him well, even if it only went so far. Initially, the shock of the water distracted the Irish Wolf, who spun around to take in his surroundings after they had landed, giving his opponent a chance to strike, biting deep into his shoulder. The Irish Wolf howled for a moment and swatted the Young Wolf, hard in the head, but he did not break the bite. Both creatures, moving at extreme speed, spun and shook and the Irish Wolf realized for a moment that he had underestimated the ability and tenacity of the creature latched on to his shoulder.
Not knowing much about the water underneath him, the Irish Wolf was desperate to get out of the stream and he ran full force into the bank forcing the Young Wolf to finally let go. He climbed out of the embankment and took a moment to examine his wound. It was deep and blood was escaping, but not so much that he would stop fighting. His intention was to scan for the Young Wolf but the instant he raised his head, his opponent crashed into him, throwing them both into the thick of the forest.
As they tumbled, a memory flashed through Conall’s mind. He had been in fights (never two in twenty-four hours) and had enjoyed most of them. He was one of three boys, all of whom went through transformations, and when their dear mother had died they went out into the woods and had at each other. The pain and grief of their mother’s death, so toxic in human form, had proven freeing in the woods. They were lighter and sharper, they fought harder and bled more, and he had never enjoyed a fight like that before or since.
With claws moving so fast the Alpha hardly had time to mount a defense, the Young Wolf slashed and snapped with the rage of youth. The Irish Wolf was able to get his paws up and absorb most of the blows with his flesh, finally punching upward into the Young Wolf’s chest and stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Quickly getting to his feet, the Irish Wolf saw that his opponent could dish it out, but couldn’t take it. The Young Wolf was down, taking giant gulps of air and trying to get to his feet.
The Irish Wolf reared up, hoping to inspire the youngster to action. It sort of worked as the Young Wolf did get to his feet and mount a weak attack of his own. The two locked front paws and while the Young Wolf was strong, he was still recovering and not nearly as strong as he needed to be to ward off an attack from an experienced, strong, and amused attacker. The Irish Wolf pushed the Young Wolf down and bit him in the same shoulder he had been wounded in earlier, partly out of spite. The Young Wolf howled long and hard, which echoed.
Standing atop his prize, the Irish Wolf gave up his bite, held the Young Wolf down and spoke to him again.
“Weak. Sad.” It snarled. “Like … your … family.”
He meant to scare the child. He meant to mark
him. He had been challenged and he wanted others to know the victor. Slowly, the Irish Wolf brought his bloodstained claw up to the Young Wolf’s face. He meant to tear part of his cheek off but the moment his intention was clear he was knocked off his feet and into the woods. He tumbled and tumbled for what seemed like a minute, each time thinking he would come to a stop on the forest floor only to be hit again and knocked farther into the woods. Somewhere in his mind, he knew one of his hind legs had broken.
Finally, finally, he stopped and was greeted to a gravely, leathery interpretation of a woman’s voice.
“Get off him or I will kill you.”
It was Josie, of course, but she had changed. When the Irish Wolf lifted his head and shook it to clear his senses he saw Josie, partially concealed in shadow. The part he could see was covered in coarse brown hair. The shirt she had been wearing was still on but she had lost her pants as her bottom half had grown and elongated. She sported powerful hind legs with muscles that bulged and flexed and visibly sharp, curved claws and was hunched in a way that resembled a feral cat. There was no mistaking the anger in her body language and when the Irish Wolf made it up to her face he saw nothing but dark eyes with darker intent staring back at him.
The Irish Wolf tried to stand but his left back leg couldn’t support his wait and he crumpled, letting out a sharp yelp he immediately regretted. Realizing he was in no condition to fight, Josie stepped out of the shadows and toward him. He noticed she was holding a large rock in one hand.
“We can both speak,” she said, her diction slightly clouded by her fangs. “I want to smash you with this rock until I see brains.”
Threats were something the Irish Wolf could handle. The sight in front of him was far more interesting.
“How?” the Irish Wolf asked. “Others … cannot.”
“WHY SHOULDN’T I KILL YOU?” Josie yelled with such force birds fled from treetops nearby.
“Without me … you … die,” the Irish Wolf answered. The yelling had focused him, and all the memories of romping with his brothers were long gone. He didn’t know what she was capable of but was pretty sure she was true to her word and looking for an excuse to kill him.
And yet, what an amazing creature. Conall’s mind was starting to return and with it, the implication of what it was he was seeing. There were rumors but he had never seen a woman who could transform. This was, strictly, a male endeavor and he marveled both at this discovery and at the form. She wasn’t nearly as stringy and skinny as her male counterparts but much more catlike but in a fiercer, deadlier way. Based on what she had done to him, she must have exceptional speed as well, he thought, and as he did so Josie walked, slowly, maintaining eye contact with the Irish Wolf, past his head and toward his broken leg. She then lifted the rock and slammed it onto his broken bone.
The first scream was punctuated by more howls and then whining pain ruled the Irish Wolf, blotting out all other influences. When his vision finally came back after nothing but white-hot agony clouding his vision, he saw Josie again with the rock over her head ready to strike.
“NO!” the Irish Wolf screamed. “NO! ANYTHING!”
“Change,” Josie said in a measured tone. “Change back now.”
“Trying …” the Irish Wolf pleaded. They both knew it was not that simple and some part of the process had to run its course. Rolling his head up at the sky, trying to get over the pain that still consumed his lower half, the Irish Wolf shut his eyes, hoping it would buy him some time.
Conall’s mind came back almost at once, which was welcomed, and immediately started racing. He needed to call The Council directly, something he had never had cause to do. He needed to get the R&D team on this right away and he needed to make sure, above all, that this group was safe and sound. As the thoughts of his business intruded, his wolf mind started shrinking and shrinking, and soon, too, did Conall’s body. The transformation back caused him to scream again as his broken leg settled into its human mold and by the time he was a recognizable human again, he was screaming and weeping in pain.
“I bet that hurt,” Josie said through thick fangs.
“Yes,” Conall said, panting. “It did.”
She leaned close to the Irishman’s face to give him a good look. Her eyes were even darker when he could see them and her features even more frightening. Her hair also stood up instead of falling around her neck giving, the illusion of armor or the back of a cape. She made a gesture toward the man’s busted leg.
“That was for my son,” she said.
“I’m sure you understand why …” Conall started.
“And this is for my husband,” Josie said and threw the rock at Conall’s broken leg, full force. He saw the rock fly through the air, heard the thud and passed out before the pain hit.
It was a good call.
SELECTIONS FROM THE BARTER COUNTY BUCK
November 11, 1995
Front Page
Headline: Cherry Man Opens Garage
Kenneth Rathman, 3404 Rural Road 6, has opened a garage in Cherry Township and hopes to drum up businesses fixing cars, trucks and service vehicles.
The garage, located on Main Street in Cherry, will take over the old Chapman building and opened at the end of last week.
“I hate having to drive 30 miles to get my vehicles serviced,” Rathman said. “It’s crazy. There are more cars in this town than people, so I ought to do OK.”
A graduate of Central Community College’s Diesel Mechanics program, Rathman said he is willing to take a look at anything and that no one should feel shy about bringing in their vehicle.
“Chances are I can make it run,” Rathman said. “I can at least give it a look.”
March 4, 1997
Front Page
Headline: Lady Bucks Lose Class D Finals
The Consolidated High Lady Bucks almost made the most out of their trip to the Class D State Championships on Friday night in Lincoln, but fell just short of a title, losing to Pius X by a score of 61-59.
Leading for most of the game, the Lady Blue Knights made a comeback in the final quarter, outshooting Consolidated and drawing more fouls.
“I’m very proud of these girls,” Coach Dave Rhodes said. “We lost our cool down the stretch but making it to State was always our goal.”
“We’ll get them next year,” Rhodes added.
Consolidated’s leading scorer, Janice Hogarth, scored 29 of the Lady Bucks 51 points and fouled out of the game in the fourth quarter.
March 11, 1997
Page 3
Cops and Courts Report
William “Willie” Rhodes, 50, of Cherry, was arrested on suspicion of driving under the influence on the evening of March 5. The report says Rhodes was driving from his son’s house where he had ingested “a few beers” and was belligerent to the arresting officer Grey Allen. This is Rhodes’ third drunk driving arrest and his license will be suspended for three months and he will be fined $2,000 plus court costs.
December 14, 1999
Front Page
Headline: Local Man Brings Laughs at Chamber Christmas Party
The Barter County Chamber of Commerce held their annual Holiday Gala on Friday night and while business was on the agenda, laughs were the highlight of the night.
Local Coop manager Byron Matzen was the host of the event and immediately had the crowd in stitches with his take on local and national politics. At one point Matzen sat at a piano and played a medley of pop songs as outgoing president Bill Clinton. His targets also included current Nebraska Football head coach Frank Solich, Chamber President Alan Cratch and Dave Rhodes, whose Lady Bucks basketball team failed to make it to State this year.
“We knew Byron was the man for the job,” Alan Cratch, President of the Chamber, said. “He’s always cracking people up. He did a great job.”
“I’ve got performing in my blood,” Matzen said. “Plus, everyone I was making fun of makes it easy.”
The group discussed several agenda items includ
ing the importance of bringing in new business, maintaining funding through grants and working with farmers to create an attractive environment for their crops.
May 22, 1999
Front Page
Headline: Local Man Forms Motorcycle Club For A Good Cause
Ron Smith has always loved motorcycles, but never gave any thought to starting a club. His friend, Carl Eakes, spurred him on.
“Carl was always asking me why we didn’t do poker runs and tours of the state and stuff like that,” Smith, an IT specialist for the Greater Barter County Coop, said. “I never had a good answer for him.”
This weekend the Barter Coyotes Wolves Motorcycle Club, founded by Smith, will host a poker run that spans 120 miles in northern Nebraska. All proceeds from the run will benefit the Barter County Community Hospital and the Red Cross. Those wishing to participate can contact Smith at the Coop.
“It will be fun,” he said. “The weather’s supposed to be great.”
PART 8 – BAD LANGUAGE MAKES FOR BAD FEELINGS
For Stuart Dietz’s eighth birthday, he and his friends went bowling. There was cake, there was pop (a rare treat in the household), there was Dana walking around like she owned the place. But the biggest takeaway from the party wasn’t the presents or the eighty-one he bowled or the caffeine buzz that kept him up late into the night. For a young Stuart, the highlight was a trip to the bathroom and a peek at another world.
Super Bowl-O-Rama was one part of a block-long entertainment complex outside of Detroit that included a skating rink and a five-screen movie theater located upstairs. Young Stuart had bugged his father to take him to movies, but the elder Kline hadn’t budged. They had a TV at home, why pay to go to a movie? His mother, slightly more open-minded, took her kids to G-rated fare like the re-release of Snow White, The Aristocats and the like.
The bathroom at the Bowl-O-Rama was right next to the stairs leading up to the movie theater and when no one was looking, young Stuart took the stairs two at a time to catch a glimpse of the movie posters before he had to go back. That trip would change his life, though it would be embarrassing to admit it.
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