Andy Deane

by The Sticks (epub)

  I remembered something that made my heart beat faster. An infinitely small glimmer of hope. I had a can of gas for my lawnmower out back. I didn't know how much was left, but whatever was there was better than nothing. I told Jess to get into the Mustang and lock the doors as if that might provide some defense. I walked around to the back of the house where the werewolf's corpse lay still in the soft moonlight. I grabbed the gas can, disappointed it wasn't heavier. There was less than half a gallon in the steel can, and the old Mustang was none too good with gas mileage. I kept an eye on the dead she-wolf until I turned the corner and then put a little extra speed in my step when it was out of sight. Dead or alive, that thing was fucking terrifying.

  Jess was sitting rigid in the passenger seat of the car, the whites of her eyes wild like a madwoman's. I wished I was in there with her, because being out in the open knowing there was another werewolf?and a larger one at that?out there somewhere wasn't too comforting. I signaled to her through the glass to pop the trunk, and she made it happen. I grabbed a funnel, closed the trunk as quietly as I could and went about pouring what little gas I had into the tank. Once finished, I tossed the can onto the lawn and joined Jess in the car. The key slipped into the ignition and I gave it a turn. The car whined and complained. I pumped the gas pedal a few times and tried again with the same result. Somehow, I managed to maintain my composure, probably more for Jess's sake than my own, because in my mind I was slamming both fists on the dash and screaming curses that would've shamed the Marquis de Sade. When I turned the key a third time the engine coughed once and started. I considered kissing the steering wheel, but decided against it, this time for my own sake.

  I turned on the headlights and pulled onto the road with a prayer running through the back of my thoughts that we'd make it to civilization before the car decided to die. I wasn't in the best state of mind for being stranded on the side of the road.

  * * *

  When we got to Hank's house I was relieved to find his old, black Ford Galaxy in the driveway. I pulled in behind it and walked through a maze of old car parts to his door. Along the way I slipped on a ball bearing and nearly fell, but righted myself by grabbing his side-view mirror. I knocked and after a few seconds heard Hank stepping heavily toward the door. The door swung inward and I found myself with a shotgun barrel resting on my nose.

  "What you comin' round here for this time o' night, boy?" said Hank. He was missing both of his front teeth, and a little of his spit found its way onto my cheek.

  "Uh, hey Hank," I said between chattering teeth, "sorry to bother you, but I'm in a little bit of trouble and need some gas to get to town. That's all."

  I had my hands in the air and was doing my best to keep from pissing myself. Hank had a snarl on his face that curled his lip up nearly past his nose. His aiming eye was wide open, the other shut tight. I had no doubt that Hank would shoot me the second he felt I'd crossed the line.

  "Well I ain't got no gas here, boy. What do I look like, a goddamned service station?"

  His house looked more like a junkyard than a service station, but I figured voicing this could very well result in his removing my head. So I bit my tongue and shook my head no. "Look. I'm really sorry to bother you so late, Hank. We had a…an animal attack at the house earlier and?"

  "You too, huh?" Hank lowered his gun. "Goddamned varmint was sniffin' 'round my Camaro, so I sent some buckshot his way and shooed him off. Big sonofabitch, and hairy as the devil. Looked like a goddamned wolf-man to me."

  I stood dazed, unsure of how to respond. Hank had reacted to seeing a werewolf the same way I would if a stray dog had wandered into my yard and torn open my trash bags.

  "I tell you what, the damned thing comes sniffin' round here again it'll be the last thing it does. I don't put up with no varmints on my property. And to answer your question, I ain't got no gas here right now. I'd help ya if I could, I just ain't got it. You're welcome to siphon what's in the Camaro if you're that hard up, but I ain't doin' it for ya. I got some chicken on the table I intend on eatin'."

  I thanked him and said I'd just be on my way. I didn't want to risk being out in the open while I tried to figure out how the hell to siphon gas from a car. Being torn to shreds while choking on gasoline was just about last on my list.

  Then I had another idea.

  "Can I use your phone?" I asked, thinking for a moment that I could wait things out at Hank's and let the cops deal with the rest.

  "Phone? Damn it all to hell, boy, I ain't had that yammer box hooked up for ten years or better. Anybody wants to talk to ol' Hank bad enough, they can get off their ass and come see him."

  I was getting fed up with Hank and felt like I was wasting precious time. Regardless of how ridiculous it would sound, I had to tell him the truth about what was happening. I felt like I needed to warn him, for my own conscience if nothing else.

  "Look, Hank, I know this is going to sound crazy as hell, but that thing you shot at is a werewolf, and I have a feeling that it's nearby. We need to get the hell out of here. It's not safe for you to stick around."

  "I think what you mean to say is it ain't safe for that joker to come prowlin' around my property. I know damn well enough to keep a shotgun handy, and besides, I don't know I believe in this wolf-man o' yours. Could be a big ol' bear come round here lookin' for a snack."

  "Trust me, Hank, this is no bear. I already killed one of them tonight at my place, and Jess and I barely lived through the attack. And the one I got was a whole lot smaller than the other one. I don't think that gun's gonna do you a ton of good if that thing gets its mind set on making you its dinner. You need to get the hell out of here."

  "I ain't goin' nowhere, boy. You know, Granny used to tell me stories about a wolf-man when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Said that it wasn't safe to be out after dark in Jefferson if the moon was showin' bright. Said that one of those things got my great uncle Jarvis before I was a twinkle in my Daddy's eye."

  "She was right. It's not safe here. And these things are real. And one of them is out in those woods right now looking for its next victim."

  "Well I ain't goin' nowhere, wolf-man or not. I'm a southern bred man, and a southern bred man don't run from nothin'."

  Hank had never been the most social of men, but on this night it was frustrating the hell out of me that he wouldn't take me seriously. I wasn't getting through to him that this werewolf was coming, and that his gun might not be enough to keep it from tearing him apart.

  I was done wasting time with Hank, but I made one more attempt to reach him.

  "Hank, why don't you come with us to town? I don't want you getting hurt by this thing. Look, I'll buy you dinner."

  "Dammit boy, you ain't heard a single word I said. I got chicken in the other room. And it ain't me who ought to be scared; it's that god-damned wolf-thing. He's about to get an ass full of buckshot if he don't mind my no trespassing sign."

  The door slammed shut in my face.

  "It's your funeral," I said under my breath.

  When I started the Mustang the needle on the gas gauge didn't even attempt to move. I wasn't sure how far we were going to get, but I figured any distance we made closer to town was worth it. If worse came to worst we'd have to walk. Actually, we'd most likely run. I looked over to Hank's place to find him glaring at us from a window as Jess and I took off into the night.

  No cars passed us as we made our way farther down Monticello Road. Jess and I didn't talk, and she was holding onto my arm as she searched the woods around us with nervous eyes. When we got close to Nate and Natalie's house Jess pointed out that someone was standing in the middle of the road up ahead.

  I slowed down in spite of my fear and the fact that the car was running on fumes and a prayer. But knowing what was out there, I couldn't bring myself to sit by and let the beast claim another victim. Especially a friend of mine.

  "Oh God, no," said Jess with a look of horror on her face. "That's Nate."

  Nate's eyes were as b
ig as dinner plates, and when he turned to face us he seemed to be looking through us as if we were ghosts. His clothes were filthy and torn, and he appeared to be losing a lot of blood through his nose. He looked like a zombie with vacant, lost eyes. I came to a stop about five feet from him and got out of the car. I grabbed his shoulders and asked him what was wrong. He just started muttering.

  "Nate, is anyone hurt? Are you okay?"

  "Everyone's dead," he said. "So…much…blood. Brian, you should get out of here, man." Nate sounded like he was talking in his sleep. It was like he was on another planet.

  "What the hell happened?"

  Nate just stared at me with his brow drawn inward as if he'd just been stabbed in the heart. The crimson blood from his nose had soaked the front of his shirt.

  "Come on, man! Get it together! We have to get the hell out of here right now!" I tightened my grip on his arms and tried to pull him toward the car, but Nate just looked toward his house and fell to his knees. I tried to lift him up, but he wouldn't budge.

  "Goddamnit, Nate! This is no time to be losing your shit! Get the hell up so we can get the hell out of here!" I grabbed him under his arms and started dragging him toward the car, but he shook free of me and sat still on the road. "Nate. Come on, man. I don't want to lose you too. Please, man. Please. Let me get you out of here."

  Nate met my gaze with empty eyes. It was like he thought he was already dead, or had nothingleft to live for.

  Then the werewolf, the big bastard, came charging through the open front door of Nate's house. I yelled for Nate to get in the car as I ran and jumped into the driver's seat.

  But Nate never moved.

  To this day I think he wanted his life to end. I don't know what he'd seen happen inside that house, but it was clear to me that he didn't want to live out the rest of his days thinking about it.

  The creature was on him in seconds, ripping hunks of flesh from Nate's chest, throwing him to the side of the road and tearing him limb-from-limb. What appeared to be one of his arms landed near the car, and I nearly lost my dinner all over the dash.

  Nate never once screamed.

  I stomped the gas and the Mustang did the best it could.

  The wolf lifted its head from its prey and looked me in the eye with a stare of such pure evil that it cut right to my soul.

  I passed the blood-covered monster and watched it take off behind us in the rearview.

  Moving like a fat man late for a free buffet, the thing reached us in seconds, pounding the trunk and trying to find a way onto the Mustang. I swerved to keep it off the car, and pinned the pedal to the floor, silently wishing that I'd spent a few extra dollars to get the V6.

  The werewolf was still right behind us when we came up on Sergeant Matheson's car on the side of the road. The lights were dead, but there was a second police car parked behind his with its lights flashing blue and red. I looked to see if someone was inside the car as we went by, but the driver's window had been shattered and the car appeared empty. I assumed the worst and didn't even consider slowing down to investigate further. I didn't see whether or not Matheson's body was still lying on the edge of the road, but figured it was. With two cop cars down, Jefferson's nighttime police force was pretty much down to zero. More good news.

  Eventually the car picked up enough speed to put a little distance between us and the creature. Not once did my right foot come up off the floor as I watched it chasing after us in my rearview mirror. The beast had been frantically charging toward us, alternating between running on all fours to upright on its hind legs. I was hoping like hell that the gas would hold out for just a few more minutes, but running the car wide open like that didn't offer me much in the way of confidence. Jess looked like she was holding up pretty well, and she reached over and put her hand on my leg to offer a bit of moral support. Well, either that or to make sure I was mashing the gas pedal as far down as it could be mashed.

  After another minute or so I lost sight of the monster and was able to pay a little extra attention to the road ahead of me. The dotted yellow lines flew by in the headlights for a while, and then the Mustang started sputtering. I prayed that we'd get as far as The Cavalier, but God was in no mood for favors that night. The car began to sputter and cough, and my balled fist banging the steering wheel didn't seem to be fixing the problem.

  We ran out of gas a half mile from where The Cavalier and The Shaft stood. I pulled off the road and we darted from the vehicle, leaving the doors wide open behind us and hoping we'd put enough distance between ourselves and the beast to matter.

  Jess and I were both breathing heavily as we ran, and were slowing down from exhaustion. Some part of me buried in the back of my mind wanted to give up. It wasn't just the fighting and running that was weighing on me, but the struggle with guilt and the tragedy that was my life. I think that if it weren't for wanting Jess to come out of that mess alive I would've used one of my bullets on myself.

  If you look up panic in the dictionary you'll likely find a photo of Jess's face from that night beside the definition. She was panting hard as she tried to keep up, and her arms had started to flail as if they'd somehow freed themselves of her control. All I wanted was for that wonderful girl to get out of that mess alive. I realized that I didn't care as much about what happened to me, and the revelation came as a surprise. That fucking monster was going to have to put up the fight of its life if it wanted to hurt Jess.

  I ran until my legs burned, then I ran some more. It seemed like an hour went by before I caught a glorious glimpse of the lights coming from The Cavalier up ahead. I'd parallel it to what a Christian might feel when he sees that bright light at the end of the tunnel just after kicking the bucket. I half expected I'd run into Saint Peter if I made it there alive. Tonight my prayers went out to Bart and the rest of the boys flipping the burgers. I just hoped that I wasn't playing the part of the Reaper tonight, towing a load of death behind me for all who might cross my path.

  Jess was lagging behind me, so I slowed down and threw some words of encouragement in her direction. "Come on, baby, you gotta keep up. We're gonna beat this thing, but we have to keep moving."

  "I'm doing the best I can."

  "You have to try harder. Come on, we don't have much time."

  She looked like a crazy woman with her hair flying out around her head and her eyes wide with horror. Seeing her so desperate made me that much more determined to protect her. But here I was with just a few bullets left in my gun, running from a monster more than three times my size with ten times my strength.

  When we reached the front door of The Cavalier I looked down the road behind us and found no trace of the werewolf. It was dead quiet outside, and for a moment it seemed that the whole werewolf ordeal was no more than a strange dream. I took Jess's hand and we walked inside and tried to catch our breath. Bart gave us a curious look, shrugged, and turned to start cooking our usual meals.

  There were only three customers inside that night, and they sat in a row at the bar. One of them must've been pushing four hundred pounds, and looked like he'd be better off using two stools than trying to balance all his weight on one. The cushioned part of the seat was lost somewhere up in his giant butt, making it look like he had a pole shooting right up his ass. He had a shaved head and wore a sleeveless leather jacket that revealed arms covered from shoulder to wrist in yellow, red and blue tattoos, most of them depicting Looney Tunes characters. His right arm sported a rotten illustration of Tweety Bird wearing sunglasses and a backward baseball cap. Below this masterpiece in big, blocky letters was the caption, "100% ATTITUDE."

  Two really skinny guys sat on either side of him wearing acid-washed jean jackets. The one on the left sported long, greasy, stringy hair and had a Krokus patch on the back of his jacket. The fellow on Tweety's right was even thinner than the emaciated fellow to his left, and didn't even have any hair on his head to add to his weight. He looked like he might weigh one hundred pounds soaking wet with lead boots on. The three
looked like a really bizarre singing trio; a band to perform weddings for gay, Satan-worshipping bikers.

  "Bart, no food tonight," I said while trying to control my breathing. "There's something outside that's going to be here in a few minutes and shit's going to get real bad real fast. We need to bar up the door and get ready for this thing."

  Bart smiled at me. "What's that? What the hell you running from, Brian? Is this some kind of joke?"

  "No joke, man. We need to get ready now because in about a minute it's going to be too late. You have to trust me, man!"

  "Well, you need to answer my questions before we do anything here. What's out there chasing you?"

  "It's a god damned werewolf. And I know that sounds crazy but you're going to want to take my word for it. We don't have time to discuss this!"

  Bart and the three fellows at the bar started laughing. Tweety even went so far as to make a monster face at me which he emphasized with a grrrrrrrr sound. His lack of teeth made him look like a giant, angry baby.

  I didn't waste another second trying to convince everyone in the room that I wasn't joking around, because if the werewolf was still on my trail I figured they'd find out soon enough on their own just how serious I was. I grabbed Jess's hand and we took off toward the back room of the diner. Bart yelled for us to stop, but when I weighed my fear of the wolf-man against my fear of Bart, there wasn't much of a contest. I grabbed the doorknob and swung the storage room door open. We ran inside and closed and locked the door behind us. There was a glass pane in the center of the door, and Bart's face appeared in it looking annoyed as hell.