Wolf Hunt

by Jeff Strand

  She got out of the car, waved goodbye, and shut the door. She caught a flash of movement in the glass door, turned around, and the werewolf pounced upon her. The punch to her stomach knocked the wind out of her.

  Michele tried to scream as Ivan tossed her over his shoulder but couldn't find her voice. He ran off, claws digging into her back, and then within a few seconds they were behind George and Lou's black van. The back doors were open.

  Ivan tossed her into the cage. She landed on her elbow, crying out in pain. Ivan slammed the cage door shut and transformed back into a human predator.

  The man who'd given her a ride was running towards the van, but he'd never make it in time. Michele tried not to cry as Ivan shut the van doors, got back into the driver's seat, and peeled out of the hospital parking lot.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Grand Theft Auto

  There was a small restaurant two buildings away from the Cotton Mouse Tavern with parking in the back. George and Lou walked back there and glanced at the selection of about four cars.

  "That one?" George asked, pointing at a rusty orange Chevrolet. It looked like the oldest one, the least likely to have an alarm, and the least likely to give them problems with the hotwiring process. Hopefully it belonged to an employee and not a diner. Less chance of them being discovered, unless somebody took a smoke break.

  "Yeah, that works."

  They walked over to the car. With the proper tools, either one of them could break into a car with no noise or damage to the vehicle, but at the moment they didn't have tools or time. Lou picked up a rock and smashed the driver's side window. Though the noise seemed like a nuclear blast, there was loud music coming from inside the restaurant and hopefully nobody overheard them.

  George got in the car, reached over, and unlocked the passenger side door for Lou. As Lou got in, George immediately looked around the car for a screwdriver or something that could be used like one.

  There was plenty of litter in the front seat, but fast food containers and soda cans weren't going to help them. Lou popped open the glove compartment and quickly rifled through the contents. "Nothing here."

  George twisted around and searched the back seat. More fast food containers, a few magazines, a Justin Timberlake CD with a cracked jewel case...and a hammer. Good enough. George picked it up off the back seat.

  "I can't believe he stole our van," said Lou.

  "He'll suffer for it."

  "He might not. Karma seems to be on his side."

  George pushed his seat back and adjusted his position so he could use the claw end of the hammer to break open the access panel beneath the steering wheel. The seat was a tight fit already, so this would be a lot easier if he could crouch outside the vehicle and lean inside, but that might attract unwanted attention.

  "Karma? Why would he have karma?"

  "I don't know. I mean, maybe we're being punished for what we've done. You know, hurting people and stuff."

  "Give me a break, Lou. A sociopathic werewolf is not going to have better karma than us. You're just having brain problems from all the blood you've lost."

  Lou looked horrible. Ivan had really done a number on him. The entire bottom half of his face was stained red from the four cuts on his cheek, and the rest of his body looked like he'd been in a losing battle with a Weedwhacker. Good thing Lou was one tough son of a bitch.

  Lou scratched at his chin, which had several blisters on it. "Maybe."

  "Is that a burn?"

  "Yeah. My face went on a grill."

  "How the hell did your face go on a grill?"

  "He pushed me on it."

  "That's crazy." George strained to pry off the access panel, but it wasn't budging. "Are you going to bleed to death?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "Let me know if you get close."

  "I will."

  "I'm glad he didn't kill you."

  "Aw, that's sweet," said Lou. "I'm glad he didn't kill you, too."

  "Of course, before too much longer, we might be wishing that he killed us both."

  "Nah, I think we'll be okay."

  "Why would you think something stupid like that?"

  "Well, we aren't dead yet, are we? We're luckier than a bunch of other people tonight."

  George sighed. "Don't remind me. Do you think that was all our fault?"

  "Do you think there's any way it couldn't be?"

  "I was hoping for a guilt loophole."

  Lou shook his head. "Nah. I hate to say this, but it's our fault those people got murdered. Ivan did it, but it's still our fault."

  "Shit."

  "Yeah."

  "Why didn't you stab him eight thousand times with the cross on your bracelet?"

  "Didn't get the chance."

  "I'd suggest that you sharpen it, but then there wouldn't be anything left."

  "Bite me. Like I said before, how do we know the 'cross stops vampires' idea didn't come from werewolves? Did you see the way his flesh sizzled? Maybe the cross had as much to do with it as the silver."

  "You could be right."

  "I bet I am."

  "This goddamn access panel won't come off."

  "Can I help?"

  "How are you going to help? I can barely get in here by myself."

  "I was just offering. Don't be rude to somebody who might be bleeding to death."

  "I think you'd be talking less if you were really bleeding to death." The corner of the access panel came loose...and then snapped off. "Damn it!"

  "Do you want to switch spots?"

  "No, just let me do this." George wedged the claw end of the hammer in the crack and began to pull.

  "Where do you think Michele went?"

  "Straight to the cops."

  "You're probably right. At least we didn't get her killed."

  "Yeah. I'd be so much more bothered by this situation if we were responsible for eight deaths at the bar instead of seven. At least he didn't make his prediction."

  "I'm just going to stop talking to you until you're done with the car."

  The access panel broke in half. "Damn it!"

  "We should place a bet on how this night ends. Jail, death, or escape?"

  "How much are we betting?"

  "How much do you want to bet?"

  "Twenty bucks."

  "Let's do twenty-five."

  "Fine," said George, breaking off the rest of the panel. "You pick first."

  "I'll pick 'escape.' That way I can enjoy my twenty-five bucks."

  "I'll pick jail."

  "Good choice. I'm glad to hear that you're not completely cynical."

  George leaned forward and tried to duck his head underneath the steering wheel. Not a chance. There simply wasn't room.

  "If you pop the trunk, I'll see if I can find a flashlight," said Lou.

  "It's not the light." He opened the door. "Keep watch. Let me know if somebody's coming.

  "Will do."

  George got out of the car and crouched down. There were several wires beneath where the panel had been. The shadow of the steering wheel made it hard to see their colors, but he didn't want to admit to Lou that he really could use a flashlight.

  His cell phone rang. "Aw, crap."

  "Is it Ricky?"

  George pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. The shell was cracked, but it still seemed to be working. He flipped it open. "Yeah, it's him."

  "Want me to talk to him?"

  "Nah, I've got it." He punched the "talk" button. "Hello?"

  "George! Who do you love?"

  "Right now I pretty much hate everybody."

  Ricky chuckled. "Aw, don't talk like that. I'm about to become your very best friend. Even though you're heterosexual, you're going to want to make sweet love to me. I'll turn down your advances, but you'll be insistent, and finally--"

  "Will you get to the point?"

  "If you're going to act that way, maybe I won't."

  George found the two red wires he needed. If he had a pair of wire
strippers, this next part would take a couple of seconds, but he'd have to use the claw hammer, which was going to be a bitch.

  "Ricky, just tell me the good news," George said.

  "He has good news?" Lou asked.

  "Salvation is near. Werewolf Hunters Incorporated--that's not their real name, that's just what I'm calling them--is in the area. I don't think they have an actual name, or if they do nobody told me, but they are armed to the frickin' teeth and that werewolf is toast, baby!"

  George scraped the claw of the hammer against the first red wire. "They're going to kill it?"

  "No. I guess I didn't mean 'toast' like toast, y'know, dead. I just meant that they're gonna catch it. Then we'll throw it back in the cage, get it to Dewey, and everybody can kiss and make up."

  "Ah."

  "You should be a lot happier than you sound. What's wrong? Did you kill the werewolf? Please tell me you didn't kill the werewolf."

  "No. But there was a...uh, slaughter."

  "What?"

  "He murdered a bunch of people."

  "How many is a bunch? Fifty?"

  "No. Nine or ten."

  "Nine or ten? He killed nine or ten people? Aw, shit, the cops are going to be crawling all over this!"

  "And he mauled two cops."

  "Mother fuck!"

  "I'm sorry."

  "Y'know, I actually had two minutes of happiness where I thought everything was going to be okay. That's what I was thinking: 'Wow, this was a bad scene for a while, but help is almost there and everything will be fine. I'm sure my good buddies George and Lou won't screw things up any worse than they already have, right? Oh, no, they're professionals, they won't cause me to have to chug down any more Peptol Bismol! It's all wonderful! Life is ducky!'"

  The claw hammer was sort of working, but not efficiently, and George was scraping carefully to avoid accidentally cutting the wire in half. "I'm really kind of busy right now," said George.

  "Busy? Busy? Are you seriously trying to tell me that you're too busy to talk to me?"

  "Will you please get to the point?"

  "I need you to punch this address into your GPS. Are you ready?"

  "We don't have the GPS."

  "Why the fuck don't you have the GPS?"

  George saw no reason to confess everything that had gone wrong. "It broke."

  "Well then somehow you need to find 7151 Pegg Avenue. Two G's. It's just a parking lot. The Werewolf Hunters Incorporated are on their way over there, and they need all of the information you've got. Everything you can tell them about his powers so that they don't get screwed like you did."

  "All right." The hammer slipped and George cursed.

  "They'll move the cage to their own van, and you can ride along while they recapture him."

  "Ah."

  "What?"

  "We lost the cage."

  "Explain."

  "He stole the van."

  "Please tell me I didn't hear you right. Because otherwise I'm going to have a nervous breakdown."

  "The werewolf stole the van, okay? What do you want me to say?"

  "I want you to say any goddamn thing but 'The werewolf stole the van!' Are you in league with him? Is that what's going on? Have you formed some kind of werewolf alliance?"

  "No, we just lost control of the situation."

  "You owe me one punch, George. When you come back here, I get to punch you in the stomach, as hard as I can, and you can't hit back. Same thing with Lou. One punch for each of you."

  "Fine." George had finally stripped the first wire, and started on the second.

  "Somebody's coming," Lou whispered.

  George immediately dropped the hammer, got in the car, and shut the door, trying to behave in a casual and completely non-suspicious manner.

  "I just can't believe this," said Ricky. "I thought I was going to deliver good news, and we'd laugh, and there'd be some homoerotic banter, and I'd get to go home. You realize that you're basically unemployable at this point, right? Who's going to hire thugs who messed up like this? You'd better get a real social security number, because you're going to be flipping burgers for the rest of your life."

  "I understand that." George discretely looked over his shoulder. A well-dressed couple stood by their car, talking.

  "And I don't mean that you're going to be flipping burgers at a classy place. You're going to be flipping shit burgers at a rat-infested restaurant where everybody in there is a fat redneck and you have to wear some kind of dumbfuck uniform and a zit-faced teenager barks orders at you all day. That's your future, George!"

  "Can we do this later?"

  "And you'll probably get food poisoning just from the fumes of the crap you have to cook! You'll have your stomach pumped, and the doctor will say 'Oh, shit, it's cancerous!' But it won't be the good kind of cancer that you can get rid of with chemotherapy, George, it'll be the kind where your whole body decays inside, where your guts turn into this big goopy blob of rot!"

  "I think I should hang up now."

  "Yeah? Well, I think you should not. Are you on your way to 7151 Pegg Avenue yet, you jerk-off?"

  "I'm hotwiring a car."

  "Oh. Need me to talk you through it?"

  "No."

  "Did I tell you about when I hotwired this guy's car and drove it into a lake?"

  George hung up on him. The couple finally got into their car, started the engine, and backed out of their parking space. As they did so, their car scraped against the one next to it. They stopped.

  "You have got to be kidding me," George muttered.

  The man got out of the car to inspect the damage. He ran his finger along the spot where the two vehicles had scraped against each other, looked nervously at George and Lou, did a double-take at their grotesque appearance, then hurriedly got back in his car, backed the rest of the way out of the space, and sped away from the restaurant.

  George opened the door, returned to his previous position, and began to strip the second red wire. His phone kept ringing, but he ignored it.

  "Are they going to exterminate us?" Lou asked.

  "It doesn't sound like it."

  "Well, that's good."

  "Yeah. They want us to tell the reinforcements everything we know about Ivan."

  "Should we do it?"

  "Tell them about him?"

  "No, meet up with them."

  "I don't know. Ricky was having a meltdown yelling at me, so I doubt that he was trying to be sneaky about anything. I think we'll get our asses chewed out--and for what it's worth, I'll make sure I take the heat on that--but I don't think there's any reason for them to kill us."

  "What about pure anger?"

  "What I mean is, we won't give them a reason to kill us. We'll just make sure we don't give up all of our information right away. Keep ourselves needed."

  "Are you sure that'll work?"

  "Do you want to spend the rest of our lives as fugitives from the law and from other criminals?"

  "I guess not."

  George finished stripping the second wire. He wrapped the two stripped wires together. "I'm going to let you make the final decision on this one. My choices today haven't worked out so well."

  "I don't know. We should at least return the case of money, so they'll stop looking for us eventually."

  The phone had gone to voice mail three times, but Ricky kept calling. George pressed "talk." "Give it a rest, will you, Ricky?"

  "What happened to the girl?"

  "What girl?"

  "Don't be coy with me. The girl you had with you. Did you create a Wikipedia page for our whole operation and drop her off at the CNN studio?"

  "The werewolf killed her." George assumed that the lie would be exposed before too long, but for now he just wanted Ricky off his back.

  "Well, that's one good thing to come out of this. Didn't I tell you not to hang up on me?"

  George stripped a brown wire. Now that he'd gotten some practice with the claw hammer, the process was going more smoot
hly. "We got disconnected."

  "The hell we did. Did you finish the car yet?"

  George touched the brown wire to the red wires. The engine roared to life. "Just got it."

  "I could've done it in half that time."

  "Can I hang up now?"

  "Are you going to 7151 Pegg Avenue?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you going to create any more disasters on your way there?"

  "No."

  "Then you can hang up. Jerk."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  An Unpleasant Conversation

  And, just like that, Michele was screwed again.

  Honestly, it wasn't all that surprising that Ivan had snatched her, but she would have expected it to be when she was being stupid and hanging around the tavern, not when she was being smart and going to the hospital.

  They'd been driving for a few minutes. Ivan hadn't said anything, though she caught him glancing at her in the rear-view mirror several times, and she made no effort to start a conversation. Thus far she'd successfully forced herself not to cry. He could carve the entire Bible into her skin before she'd give him the satisfaction of watching her cry.

  She wouldn't beg, either.

  There was nothing she could do about the trembling, though.

  God, she was scared. She didn't want to die. She considered lying and telling him that she was pregnant, to see if she could appeal to some tiny shred of goodness, but she didn't think he had any. He'd probably love it if he thought she was pregnant. She could just hear him: "Oooooh, then I'd better save your belly for last!"

  She adjusted her position. Her only solace was that he'd have to open the cage to kill her, at least if he wanted to do it with his teeth and claws, and she'd have an opportunity to escape.

  "How are you holding up?" he finally asked.

  "I'll be honest with you: not so well."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. You can still talk, can't you? A lot of my prey gets so scared they can't even do that."

  "Then I'm honored."

  "You should be. Mute people just aren't much fun."

  "Are you going to kill me?"

  "Do you think I should?"

  "No."

  "Why not? Appeal to my sense of reason."

  "I never did anything to you. I tried to help you."