by Terry Yates
When Rhonda’s body hit the floor, she rolled over onto her back, her eyes open and her mouth moving. Even with the blood pooling under her head, Potts could tell that she was still trying to speak. Her bat features looked even more monstrous now with the bullet hole under her eye. She let out a few groans…and then tried to get up. Potts hadn’t been expecting her to still be alive. Usually when he put a bullet in someone…a human, that is…they stayed down. But when she’d moved, his bullet had gone astray. Rhonda continued to struggle, giving it one last-ditch effort to get to her feet. As she did, Potts fired his pistol again, the bullet striking her in the forehead. Rhonda Weaver at last lay still, her eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.
Potts dropped down to one knee and reached under the woman, trying not to get blood on him. She would’ve normally been too heavy for Potts to pick up, but he managed to carry her limp body over to the bed, and laid her on it. He looked down at her and saw that her face was changing back to its original features, the bat like features disappearing. Except for the bullet hole under her eye and the one on her forehead, she looked almost peaceful.
Potts took a quilt from the foot of the bed and gently placed it over her, covering her face last. He walked over to the makeup table, careful to step over the lake of blood that covered most of the floor around it. He reached down and picked up the music box that lay among the shattered perfume bottles. He opened up the box, and the music played that familiar haunting melody that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He walked back over to the bed and placed the music box on the old nightstand next to the bed. He stood and listened to the music for a few seconds before quietly, and respectfully, walking out of the room.
The colonel lay there in the dugout, fever dream after fever dream kept soaring past him, most of them people that he had killed in battle, nameless, faceless men who, unbeknownst to him and his memory, haunted his dreams every night.
CHAPTER 87
If Los Angeles hadn’t been a wild and insane place to live before, it was now. There seemed to be two or three werewolves on every street, each killing as many victims as it could. The cops, the military, and the armed citizens, all seemed to melt into one giant deadly ball of confusion, all shooting at almost anything that moved. It was dark, but the moon was bright, and caused many people who cast long shadows to be shot at or chased with bats and clubs.
The Lobo was having the time of its young life. It was at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. Its face was to the sky, and it was howling.
“Calling all werewolves!” the howl beckoned. “The dinner bell’s a clangin’! Come one! Come all!”
The Lobo panted and watched the destruction that was going on around it. There were at least twenty of the new pack wreaking havoc with the uniformed AND the civilians. Several of the werewolves had been movie and television celebrities, so they followed their instincts to where they knew people dined…and where they would dine.
The sounds of cars crashing into one another, gunshots, howls, growls, and screams, filled the night, all of the sounds converging into one large cacophony of noise…one set of noises no louder than the others. It knew that its children were storming through all of the Village of Stone, killing everything that they came across.
The Lobo had just spotted a young, terrified couple trying to flee. It salivated as it planned its attack. It would have to incapacitate both of them quickly, so that it could feast on one while the other was prone and unable to move.
As it stepped onto Hollywood Boulevard, it heard a loud commotion, then looked to his right. It cocked its head toward the sound and watched as both creatures and two-leggers scattered to the four winds as an Army tank plowed through the wreckage that lined the street. Behind it, soldiers marched through, shooting at every werewolf that they came across. Usually when a two-legger fired its fire rocks at one of the pack, they just took a few steps backward and then recovered, but these fire rocks were knocking them flat…and they weren’t getting up. It continued to watch as the tank ran over several more of the pack as they attempted to flee.
Instead of fleeing like every living creature in sight was doing, The Lobo stopped and faced the tank, which was sitting fifty yards away. It had stopped after allowing the soldiers through, and sat there in idle.
The Lobo stewed for a moment as it watched the two-leggers finish off what dying werewolves were left on the block. Many of the two-leggers made strange, joyful noises as they destroyed its children. Somehow the werewolf that was Simon Shoals understood the elation that the two-leggers felt after killing their prey, but unfortunately, they were on two different sides of the same food chain, and these little bitch pups were really starting to piss it off in a big way…especially the great big two-legger shell with the long stick hanging out from it.
The Lobo let out a low guttural growl as it stared at the tank. It was preparing to attack, but it wanted to give whatever creature that was inside it, time to be truly afraid of what was about to happen to it. The creature extended its arms/forelegs letting the tank get a good look at its claws, which were about to shred it apart. As it prepared to attack, it saw that the top of the tank was opening up. It squinted its eyes as it watched, because silver smoke was now everywhere. When the top of the tank was completely up, so were the werewolf’s ears, trying to figure out what its enemy was up to. For a few moments, there was nothing…no signs of life at all, and then it showed its head…its familiar head. It was the Green Beret…and it was staring The Lobo right in the face and showing its teeth, never a good thing to do to canines or gorillas.
The Lobo squinted its eyes to where they were almost slits, and then laid its ears back to where they were flat against its head. The creature that was Simon Shoals went down on all fours and stuck its rump in the air. It then let out a howl that carried over the Village of Stone, informing all that a new king was in town and he was just about to have his inaugural feast. It locked gazes with its enemy again and then began to run toward it…slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed as it got closer. The two enemies kept eye contact until The Lobo had halfway closed the gap, then the two-legger looked down for a moment and moved its mouth. It then ducked back into the shell and closed the top.
Suddenly fire shot out of the tank sending a shell right at the werewolf. The explosion was loud as the projectile hit the street in front of the thing. When the smoke cleared, there was no sign of the beast. It had either evaporated or gotten away. The Green Beret was preparing for the latter, and he didn’t have to wait long.
The Lobo had dodged the explosion, but got knocked through the air and pummeled with flying debris. The concrete chips stung badly, but it made its way to its feet. Instinct told it that the thick smoke could be used as cover, so it ran up on the sidewalk and down the street while everyone was recovering from the blast. By the time the smoke was beginning to clear, it had made its way to the side of the big two-legger shell.
As the smoke was clearing, the creature began to sprint for the tank. Two ground soldiers got in its way by trying to shoot it, but both had died before they barely raised their rifles.
The Lobo landed heavily on top of the tank, causing it to rock back and forth. It reached down, grabbed the side of the door, pulled, and within seconds, had removed the top of the tank. When it peered down inside, it was met by the Green Beret, who sat looking up at him, a revolver in his hand.
Before the werewolf could react, the Green Beret sent two slugs from his pistol into The Lobo, one hitting the beast in the chest and the other in the neck. The creature yelped as it fell backwards off of the tank, the silver bullets burning it immensely.
The Green Beret scrambled out of the tank and onto the street. The smoke from the blast and the silver smoke from the dead werewolves, was everywhere. The Green Beret began to look around for the beast as the tank driver jumped down onto the street to join him.
“Sir? Where do you think…”
Before the driver could finish his sentence, an arm/forele
g reached out from the smoke and pulled the soldier backwards. The man hardly made a sound until the Green Beret heard the sounds of flesh tearing, followed by a quick, muffled scream. He had his gun at the ready, loaded with silver bullets. He fanned at the silver smoke, but the wind was kicking up and causing it to swirl instead of dissipate. The soldier put his free hand out behind him until he touched the tank. He’d best stay where he was instead of possibly walking into the thing’s trap. He lightly leaned his back against the tank and waited. Most of the soldiers, werewolves, and citizens had scattered, leaving pretty much the two protagonists to fend for themselves, which was fine for him, and he guessed it was probably the way the creature wanted it, too.
He could hear the noises of the sirens and gunshots in the distance, but where they were was fairly quiet now. He stood at the ready, waiting…no, wanting the abomination to attack. This was the Big Kahuna…this was one that started it all…in L.A. anyway. Computer companies were having trouble with the volumes of questions and complaints, so he still didn’t know who the man that became the werewolf was, in human form. One thing he did know, was that the human face seemed familiar to him, the hair was maybe different and the thin mustache didn’t seem familiar, but the face and the walk did.
From behind him and to the right, he heard a low growl that sounded more like a lion than a wolf. He froze in place. The silver smoke was getting thick now, because the wind had kicked up and was sending the wind from down the block over there. He would have to use it as if he were in fog. He wouldn’t move, hoping that the thing couldn’t see him either.
He heard another growl, but this one came from the other side. He sure wished that the wind would stop blowing so that the werewolf would have to show itself. The Green Beret stayed frozen, but the hammers were back on his pistols, and his fingers were on the triggers. He couldn’t push the lasers yet, because he still wasn’t sure if the thing knew exactly where he was. He wished he hadn’t turned down the night vision glasses, but there had only been a few pair and he doled them out to the soldiers that looked the most nervous. He wanted to make sure that they could see what they were aiming at. He didn’t want them just shooting at anything that moved, even though he was pretty sure that there had been some friendly fire going on.
The Green Beret heard a third growl, this time from even another direction. Yep, this sucker could see him, and he guessed that he was extremely irate. All right, he thought to himself, looking down at his wedding ring, let’s turn the lasers on and get to this.
Quick as lightning, he jumped away from the tank and spun around facing it, both lasers searching for a pair of large yellow orbs piercing the silver smoke that was dissipating again. Dread hit the Green Beret hard when he felt the ground behind him move. It had stayed to the outside of the smoke, waited for him to turn his back and then jump right behind him.
The soldier spun around, trying to get a shot off, but something like a vice grip grabbed his forearm as he pulled the trigger. The thing had his arm in a grip so tight that there was hardly any recoil from the gun. The Green Beret was whirled around as if he weighed no more than sheet of paper. Once he’d been turned around, he looked up. There the creature stood, smoke coming from both bullet holes. This time though, its eyes weren’t angry, they seemed almost…victorious. The beast let go of the soldier’s arm, and a wave of relief ran through his arm, although it still hurt.
The two adversaries stared at one another, neither making the first move, although it seemed to the Green Beret, like the werewolf, was waiting for him to make the first one, daring him to make the first move, wanting him to make the first move. All right then, he thought, let’s give it what it wants. The soldier feigned left as if to run, but instead, pulled the trigger from the second gun, the bullet penetrating the creature’s side. The beast let out a roar of pain…it had not been expecting the little two-legger to be so clever.
The Lobo was knocked back a few steps by the force of the gun, but it was so angry that it ignored the pain and the ensuing silver smoke. This two-legger had caused the werewolf more problems than any of the little humans had in the short few days since it had turned. It wanted to swallow this one whole and take in its whole essence. Another shot rang out, but The Lobo lunged sideways, causing the bullet to miss its mark. Before the Green Beret could react, the beast was on top of him, pinning him hard against the tank. The Lobo had two-plus feet on the two-legger and looked down at it, satisfied with itself that it had won the hard-fought battle. The creature’s instincts told it to just bite the mighty little warrior and make it one of its own, but it wanted it a victory dinner and here it was before him.
As it began to reach down for the two-legger, it noticed that it made a strange sign with its hands that went from the top of its head to the bottom, and then it touched both shoulders. No matter, The Lobo’s instincts told it as it grabbed the two-legger by the shoulders and lifted it up. The two enemies were nose to nose now, and if a werewolf could be impressed, then it was with the soon-to-be werewolf shit, that seemed to be unafraid of it. It was naturally squirming, attempting a last-ditch effort to escape, as any fighter should, but this one wasn’t urinating or defecating itself like most of them did, as a matter of fact, this one was looking it in the eyes.
The Lobo let out a satisfied growl, and then opened its mouth wide. Just as it was about to rip the Green Beret’s throat out, the ground began to shake…not just shake, but move in ways that was making it hard for the thing to even stand. The shaking got so large that the creature found itself letting go of the two-legger just so that it could keep its balance, which was becoming increasingly harder. Now instead of gunshots and howling, all the beast heard was screaming and the sounds of the rest of the street coming apart in the quake.
The Lobo began to sprint away from the shaking ground. As it ran, it saw first cars, followed by people and then werewolves, sinking into the ground. At this point, people and werewolves were running together, all trying to escape. It heard several explosions going on around it. The Lobo had never felt fear in its short life, but it was feeling desperation…desperation to get away from the sinking Village of Stone. It ran right over two elderly two-leggers as it dodged the debris from a small building that was collapsing.
The Lobo was having to zigzag, because different parts of the Earth were opening up around it. Its intuition told it to just keep going. It ran past one of its own kind that was whimpering as it ran. The Lobo had no time for it…it just leapt running…even with the large buildings now falling around it.
CHAPTER 88
As the tarp was quickly removed from in front of them, Kyler woke up, yelped, and then shot his hands out in front of him, waiting to deal with yet another werewolf. But there was no werewolf in front of him. There was only FranAnne, Mary Sue, and several policemen.
Kyler was in the helicopter, watching a doctor, back turned, quickly wrapping real bandages around Potts’ stump, while another one, a lady, was cleaning his claw wound.
“Nice job, Doctor,” the male doctor said as he turned around.
Kyler couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Dr. Phillips, his old mentor from Stanford.
“Dr. Phillips?” he asked, as the lady doctor finished putting several large bandages over his chest.
“How are you, Richard?” the man asked, almost the trace of a smile on his face. The man was in his early sixties and looked it at the moment, having dark circles under both eyes.
“I’m…what are you doing here, Doctor Phillips and how is Col. Potts?”
“I was working in Los Angeles dealing with the problem there when the spit hit the Spam.”
“What…spit?”
“A lot of it’s gone now,” FranAnne spoke up, leaving Potts’ side and moving up to the men and the lady doctor.
“What?”
“Those things were running loose all over L.A. when the quake hit,” Phillips answered.
“Quake?”
“The biggest ever seen,” the doctor cam
e back. “They’re not sure if it they finally had their Mt. Vesuvius, or if it had something to do with the strange weather phenomena.”
Kyler was stunned. He had not even thought of the LA problems…he’d had a few of his own to deal with.
“I’ve heard some good things about you, Richa…eh…Doctor Kyler. I’m impressed.”
“Everything you’ve heard is true,” FranAnne put in. “He probably saved all of our lives at some point.”
“If anyone saved all of our lives, it was him,” Kyler told them, nodding at Potts.
Kyler walked across the medical chopper, having trouble keeping his feet. He looked down at Potts, who was unconscious and white as a sheet. Phillips had cleaned him up, put bandages on him, stuck a tube in his nose, and an IV in his arm.
“I think he’ll be okay,” Phillips, answered. “He seems to have a strong constitution.”
“You have no idea,” Kyler answered.
“So there was one more in the Black Mesa’s,” Mary Sue said, moving up next to Kyler who was still looking down at Potts.
“We had one play possum on us. The big one.”
Kyler could see that Mary Sue wanted to tell him something, but was hesitant. No matter, he thought. He really wasn’t in the mood for anymore bad news.