by Pieter Lars
“Two…”
Tom and Jason looked at each other. Neither looked very confident. Tom just shrugged. He couldn’t eat anymore of the stale oyster crackers, or the off-brand cola. Whatever was going to happen out there, he was ready.
“Three!”
Tom wrenched the door open. A light brown werewolf stood in the doorway, eyeing them hungrily. Drool dripped from its jaws.
Melissa tossed one of the balls into the air. The werewolf’s gaze followed it. She brought her racquet back, then around in an overhead arc. It gave a nice, solid thwunk as it connected, sending the tennis ball straight out the door and into the field beyond.
The werewolf barked, turned in a flash of brown fur, and bolted after it. But, just as it did, another of the creatures emerged at the tree line.
Tom and Jason stuck their heads out of the doorway and looked around. It seemed to be working. They came out, hugging the shadows along the outside wall. Melissa came out next. She held another tennis ball up, her racquet arm cocked for another serve.
She scanned the tree line. Two pairs of canine eyes glinted back at her. The newcomers edged warily out of the forest with their teeth bared. Melissa tossed the ball, struck it and sent it flying across the field. Both werewolves took off after it, snarling and growling at each other as they ran.
But all the commotion seemed to be attracting the rest of the pack. Eyes shone from every shadow, and a multitude of furred beasts began to emerge from the darkness.
There were werewolves from all five of the squads. Tom counted five separate green bandanas, which meant all of squad five had been turned.
He couldn’t be sure, but one of the werewolves bared a passing resemblance to Felipe. It had the same bushy eyebrows. It stepped into the overhead lights of the basketball court and Tom saw the red bandanna tied around its neck.
Wolf Felipe howled, then started running towards Melissa, his huge paws kicking up dirt and twigs.
Melissa shot another serve that sailed over Wolf Felipe’s head and he skidded to a halt, then turned to follow the tennis ball. Three other werewolves joined him.
But by this time the light brown werewolf - the first one to chase the ball - was returning with its prize.
It padded up to Melissa’s feet. She shirked away, but the werewolf only dropped the ball, then took a couple steps back and gave a panting grin.
Maybe she tamed it! Tom thought.
Melissa bent warily and snatched the ball up. The werewolf started spinning in happy little circles. Two more joined it. All of their eyes were locked on the ball in Melissa’s hand. One of them gave an eager growl, and still more emerged from the shadows.
There must have been a dozen in the clearing. There was no way Melissa had enough balls to keep them all entertained for the next four hours.
“Go!” Melissa shouted. “I’ll cover you!”
Go where? Tom almost asked, but Jason grabbed him by the arm, pulling him down the length of the building and around the corner.
Tom could hear the thwunk of Melissa’s racquet, the happy howls and the angry snarls.
They started running down the hillside, gathering speed as gravity assisted their descent. Then Jason’s foot caught on a rock and he went sprawling, rolling and bouncing the rest of the way until he splashed into a creek at the bottom.
Tom hurried after him and when he reached him Jason was already groaning in pain.
“What’s wrong?” Tom whispered. “What hurts?”
“My chest,” Jason hissed. “I think I broke my ribs.”
“Can you stand?” Tom said. He bent to help and Jason struggled to his feet, only to collapse back into the stream.
“I think my ankle’s broken. I can’t even stand up. You’ll have to go on without me. Just try and survive the next few hours so we’re not disqualified.”
Tom shook his head, then realized Jason couldn’t see him. “No,” he said aloud. “I won’t leave you. I can’t let Melissa’s sacrifice be in vain.”
He rose and looked back up the hill toward the rec center. His squadmates had given their lives - for at least this week - to get him to this point. They had braved lycanthropy and the dark woods and the chiggers and mosquitos, sleeping on uneven ground, drinking out of canteens, all with the hope that they might complete their field training. That they, and their squadmates, would triumph over adversity and earn a place in the NEA’s ranks.
“We have to earn this,” he said. “Earn Melissa’s sacrifice. And Felipe’s, and Gord-”
“OK, I get it,” Jason said. “Can you at least drag me through the creek here? The mud might mask our scent.”
“Good idea,” Tom said, and bent to grab Jason under his armpits.
They made their way through the muck and the mire, to a road, which eventually led them back to the NEA field camp. Their goal was to make their last stand in the grass of the heli-pad.
Their field test was supposed to end in thirty five minutes, but they knew they were being followed. They could hear the panting, and the snarls, and the occasional howl that grew closer with every minute.
The helipad was in sight. Tom lifted Jason and carried him, piggy-back-style, for the final fifty yards. Or, he had intended to, but Jason was kind of heavy and the position hurt his ribs, so he settled on hanging Jason’s arm across his shoulder and helping him along, step by step.
When they got to the pad they both collapsed onto their backs, panting and moaning.
Jason tried to sit up, but the effort made him grunt in pain. He was taking short, hitched breaths, wincing each time as his cracked ribs flared.
Tom pulled off his pack and pushed it under Jason’s head.
“Thanks,” the fireman said.
Tom knelt in the dirt beside him.
Last week Tom would have been filled with jealousy over guys like Jason. With their chiseled jaws and muscles and uniforms. Their courage.
But now it was Tom’s turn to be the brave one. Now he was the one wearing the uniform.
Well, technically they both had uniforms. And Jason’s had the official NEA patches. Tom’s didn’t even have his name on it.
But still, Tom had a uniform! And didn’t the horror of battle strip men of their ranks? Weren’t all men equal who gazed into the face of death, the great equalizer?
Tom wasn’t sure. This was a first for him.
But he was going to rescue the fireman this time. He couldn’t wait to tell Samantha all about it.
If he survived.
There was a low growl from the tree-line ahead. A pair of yellow eyes flashed from the darkness.
The werewolves had come.
He stood. Two more pairs of eyes appeared at the tree-line.
And then, all around the clearing, werewolves were emerging from the trees. Their heads were low, eyes staring at Tom. Hungry and excited. Ready for their meal.
He reached down and patted his cargo pockets. The werewolves lifted their heads, their ears perked.
Huh, Tom though. They think I have a tennis ball.
Well, he didn’t.
But he did have something else. He bent down and rummaged through the pack, jostling Jason’s head in the process.
“What are you doing?” Jason asked.
“I have an idea. How much time do we have?”
Jason looked at his watch. “Ten minutes.”
“So we only have to stay alive, or stay human, for that long?”
“That’s what the rules say. But we don’t have any weapons. No tennis balls or anything.”
“That’s OK. I think I can keep them occupied for ten minutes.”
Tom pulled out the rubber chicken that he had found in the rec center. It wobbled and wriggled in his hands. He turned to see that two of the werewolves had crept up until they were just four feet away. Another second and they might have pounced.
But when he turned and lifted the chicken the werewolves perked their ears. Their mouths opened and their tongues lolled out.
Tom
swung the chicken to the left. The werewolves’ heads swiveled left. He swung it to the right. The werewolves’ heads swiveled right. Their greedy little eyes were locked onto the chicken like it was a juicy piece of hamburger.
He gripped the chicken’s body and gave a squeeze. The squeak was loud in the quiet night, echoing across the clearing. The werewolves barked in response. Two more left the treeline and ran up to join their mesmerized brethren.
Tom held the chicken high.
“Sit,” he said.
The werewolves sat. Tom grinned. What other tricks do you guys know?
“Speak,” he said, squeaking the chicken again. The werewolves howled in unison. Tom winced. OK. Once is enough.
“Orbit,” he shouted, squeaking the chicken. The werewolves bolted up and ran in a circle around the clearing, then returned. They inched their way closer and closer to Tom, who still held the chicken up over head.
He thought about doing the old ‘fake throw’ trick, but didn’t want to piss them off. Instead he took a few steps back. The beasts’ eyes remained locked on the chicken. He squeaked it again and they barked. Then he took a couple more steps, then some more, until he was walking backwards in a circle around the clearing with the whole werewolf pack following, transfixed.
Squeak. Walk. Squeak. Walk some more. Around and around.
Finally, Jason’s watch beeped.
“Was that it?” Tom asked
“Yep,” Jason replied.
Squeak. Squeak.
“So now what?” Tom asked. “Do they come get us or something?”
Squeak.
“Nope.”
“Did we win?”
“Yeah…about that. There’s no real winners here. We were just supposed to get you to work as a team and test your bravery.”
Tom’s mouth dropped open. He stopped. A werewolf nudged his hand and he flinched, taking another few steps. Squeak. Squeak.
“So how did we do?” Tom asked.
“Excellent. Especially here at the end. You getting all creative with that rubber chicken and dragging me to safety. Top marks. I’ll make sure the bosses know.”
“Ok. Thanks. But what about the werewolves? There’s no helicopter coming?”
“No. Sorry. I think we better just submit. Unless you want to try and be their alpha somehow. Or maybe keep them mesmerized with that rubber chicken.”
“So they don’t eat people? They just turn them?”
“Yeah. The NEA did a whole study on it leading up to this week. They don’t even really bite that hard.”
“Huh,” Tom said. He stopped.
What would it feel like to be a werewolf for a couple days? The thought would have terrified him last week, but he’d been through a lot the last few days.
He dropped the chicken, then got down on his knees. One of the bigger werewolves approached and gave him a sniff. Tom lifted his forearm and the werewolf bit down on it gently. He looked back to see Jason doing the same.
“See you on the other side, buddy,” Jason said.
“See if you can find one of those tennis balls,” Tom replied.
They both laughed. Tom licked his incisor and was surprised to find that it had already grown an inch. His spine started to crack and hair sprouted from his knuckles.
The whole transformation took about two minutes.
It didn’t hurt really. Just itched a bit.
I can’t wait to tell Samantha about this, he thought, just before the urge to howl at the moon completely consumed him.
3
Killer Bunnies
“I can’t believe you didn’t send me any pictures! I bet you were a super hot werewolf!”
Tom grinned at the image of Samantha in his computer screen. “Thanks, babe. I wish you were here. We could have frolicked in the woods together.”
“We could have hunted together! That would have been hot!”
Tom laughed again.
“What?” Samantha said. “You know there’s a whole erotica sub-genre devoted to werewolves and shapeshifters.”
“Is that right? You getting caught up on your reading while I’m away?”
Samantha winked. “Maybe.”
“How’s work?” Tom asked.
Samantha shrugged. “You’re not missing much, trust me. Grossman still has dog fur all over his suit coat so you know he doesn’t get it dry cleaned very often.”
“What a gross man,” Tom replied.
Samantha sighed. “I keep telling you, that joke is getting old.”
“I know. I just can’t help myself. So, how are you handling killer bunny week?”
Samantha fidgeted and looked to the side. “It’s fine. Did you guys get the chainmail neck protectors, too?”
“They call it a gorget here, but yeah. We don’t really have to wear them much though. We’re inside most of the time.”
“So field training has become classroom training?”
“Pretty much. We’ve been calculating future forecasts, which is interesting. Right now I’m supposed to be coming up with ideas for killer bunny repellent. And then this afternoon we’re going to attend a class on quantum mechanics for some reason. I’m a little nervous. I never even made it past geometry.”
“Huh. That’s weird. I just watched a conspiracy video that tried to make the case that we’re all living in a computer simulation with some teenager at the controls.”
Tom laughed. “Conspiracy videos and werewolf erotica. You really are bored.”
“Yeah, Tom, because you made me promise not to watch our shows until you got back! I swear, if our DVR fills up and erases my nature documentaries I’m going to be so mad.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better I wish I was back home,” Tom said. “I didn’t expect to be taking so many tests and doing so much reading.”
She smirked. “You thought it would all be unicorns and laser gun battles?”
“Maybe not the unicorns,” he laughed. “But the lasers, yeah.”
“Oh, man! I just realized how amazing a unicorn apocalypse would be.”
“Yeah but they would be death unicorns, going around spraying poison sparkles and skewering people with their horns. And then you’d be rounding them up so you could keep them as pets.”
Samantha threw her head back and laughed. When she did Tom caught a glimpse of a white bandage on her neck.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “What happened to your neck?”
She raised her hand to cover the bandage. “Nothing. Got nipped by one of the bunnies on the way to work. Those suckers can jump!”
She glanced at something off screen, then looked back at her camera. Her left eyebrow was raised, along with the corner of her mouth.
Tom knew that look. It was her guilty look. The look that said, please don’t ask me what you want to ask me because you already know the answer and you’ll be even more mad if I actually have to say it.
“Samantha, how many killer bunnies have you ‘rescued’?” He made air quotes, but wasn’t sure they were caught in the video frame.
“Umm….I don’t know. Three?” Her eyes shifted left, then right.
Tom turned up the volume in his headphones. He could hear a faint metallic clanging, like something caught in a cage.
“Be honest. You rescued more than three, didn’t you?”
Samantha sighed. “Yeah, but they’re all locked up in cages. They’re not even dangerous when they’re locked up. And they’re sooo cute, Tom. Seriously. You have to see them.”
Samantha turned her computer so that the camera was facing the other end of their living room. The far wall was lined, floor to ceiling, with small wire cages. Each one held a little white bunny.
“Oh. My. God,” Tom said. “How they heck did you even catch so many!?”
“It’s easy, once you get the hang of it. They’ll charge you from, like, ten feet away. The trick is having your net ready when they leap for your jugular. You just have to time it right and have the cage ready. It’s easy.”
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She turned the camera back so that Tom could see her face, then gave a bright, toothy grin.
“They’ll be out of here before you even get back, don’t worry.”
“OK,” Tom said. “But are you safe? One of them already bit you!”
“Yeah, I got a little lazy catching that one and it got me. But I only needed, like, twelve stitches. It’s really no big deal.”
“Can they get out?” he asked. “Are those cages secure? You have at least twenty killer bunnies living in our condo. What happens if they escape while you’re asleep?”
“Oh, I doubt they even wake up at night. I make sure their little bellies are full and they go right to bed.”
“OK, Sam. As long as you’re sure….” He rubbed the side of his neck, wondering what it would feel like to get bit by a rabbit. “I’m afraid to ask, but what are you feeding them?”
“Oh, yeah! I didn’t tell you! You know that butcher down on Filmore?”
“Yeah,” Tom said, already dreading what came next.
“Well, it turns out they have these big coolers in the back that they fill with all the scraps and leftovers. You know, like the stuff that isn’t steak. Lungs and hearts and all the innards. They call them ‘treasure boxes.’ I thought that was cute.” She giggled. “Well most people don’t really buy that stuff so you can get it for cheap. I had them grind a bunch of it up and then I put it in these ziplock bags. Then I cut the corner off so I can squeeze it out like cake frosting. The bunnies love it!”
“Oh, geez. That’s so gross.”
“No it’s not! It’s nature! These bunnies have to eat. It’s not their fault they have a taste for raw flesh. Next week they’ll be back to eating shoots and leaves or whatever they normally like. I’m not going to let them all die just because they bit a few people.”
“What do you mean ‘a few people’?” Tom asked.
“Just people,” Samantha said. She bit her bottom lip. “Like at the mall, and the grocery store, and the office.”
Tom laughed. “So, what? Are you the vigilante bunny catcher?”