SNAFU: Wolves at the Door: An Anthology of Military Horror

by James A. Moore

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about that.” Eric nodded and looked back at his friend. “I’ll accept his reasons for all of this, but if he did anything at all to Sarah or the kids, I swear I’ll kill every last one of them.”

  Scott shook his head. “I don’t think they did anything to them except maybe settle them down somewhere and keep them locked up.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he seems like a fair enough guy. I think maybe he doesn’t even like what he’s done so far, but you know what? I think if I was in his shoes, I might have just gone and killed everyone instead of checking first.”

  Eric looked hard at Scott, surprised by the comment. “Really?”

  “Seriously. What would you do if someone had killed Sarah like that?”

  He nodded.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “All I know for sure is he sounded sincere. And I think if he wanted everyone dead, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble. He gave them an out. Maybe not much of one, but he gave them something.”

  “What I don’t get is he said his daughter went back to her human form when she… when they killed her. So why not report it to the police?”

  Scott shivered a bit and coughed a plume of steam into the air before he answered. “Too many questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t mean official questions. No matter what shape she took, it would have been easy enough for him to find the evidence. He could have said he was an eyewitness and I bet most of the people in this county would take one look at his record on the highway patrol and side with him in a court. But if they’re trying to hide what they are, and George and the others said they hit a wolf and we’re so sorry and all of that crap, it would have made somebody look twice, maybe a reporter from a piece of crap like the Enquirer or maybe someone from the local news. Whatever the case, it might have started rumors.”

  “No one would believe them.”

  “Maybe not, but I don’t think I’d take chances like that if I was a werewolf, or whatever.”

  “Given this a lot of thought, have you?” He looked at Scott and gave a small grin.

  “Not really a lot else to do right now.”

  “You think they have a chance in hell, Scott?”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been giving that a lot of thought too, and I don’t really know if I care anymore.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious, dude.” Scott looked at him hard, and the innocent expression he was used to seeing was completely erased, covered over with anger. “I don’t care if they started on a wolf or not, they killed a pregnant woman and then they hid that fact away. That makes them about as low as anyone can get in my book, Eric.”

  “What about George?”

  “What about him? He should have stopped it from happening and he didn’t. I don’t care if they were both bigger and meaner than him, Eric, and you know he could have at least taken out Cullie. He should have stopped them and instead he went where he didn’t have to watch.”

  Eric nodded. Much as he felt like he was betraying his friends, he also understood exactly how Scott was feeling.

  “Okay, so even with the risk of being marked as a werewolf, he could have reported the murder.”

  “Let’s forget the fact he was stuck for two days in the woods while he healed himself. Let’s forget all about that and pretend he was just a witness. Have you noticed what happens to a lot of the murderers out there, Eric?”

  “A lot of them get the chair, especially for murdering and torturing a pregnant girl.”

  “A lot of them get to sit on death row for fifteen or twenty years and their families get to reflect on why the asshole who murdered their loved one isn’t dead yet.”

  “But they get killed eventually.”

  “And a lot of them paint pictures, and write books and get released from death row because the laws were changed.” Scott shrugged.

  “I thought you were opposed to the death penalty anyway.”

  “I am. Mostly. If someone’s innocent, they shouldn’t fry. If a society convicts and then kills an innocent man, then the society is no better than the person who committed the crime in the first place. But this is different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “They all confessed. They tortured a pregnant woman to death.”

  “You sure you aren’t letting Allison’s pregnancy color your views?”

  “I don’t really care if I am. All I have to do is think of her in the same boat and I know I’d want all three of them dead myself. Especially if I watched them do it.”

  “So you think he just doesn’t like the chances of all three of them going to death row?”

  “He’s not after justice, Eric. He’s after revenge. I can’t blame him. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  Eric sighed and headed for the door. “Neither can I, damn it.”

  Not a person inside had left their seats, but the tension he’d felt earlier seemed to have gone away. If the people were waiting for him to make a break for it, he guessed they felt a little more comfortable about his staying where he belonged now.

  Part of him still wanted to find his wife and kids, but he decided he could wait it out for now. In the long run, he didn’t really have much choice in the matter anyway.

  All he could do was wait, and wonder whether or not he should pray for the safety of his friends.

  * * *

  Cullie was panting like a dog when the howls started up. He was taking a much-needed breather and trying not to freeze his balls off when the sound hit him and sent feverish chills running down his back.

  “I get out of this alive, I swear I’ll kill George.” It was a hollow threat, but it made him feel better. George was always trying to do what he thought was right, like narcing them all out at the diner, which had led Cullie to his current predicament.

  Well, okay, and killing the wolf when it turned into a pregnant girl.

  He started moving again, and as he did, he replayed the most powerful memory of his life. It had been cold that night and the wolf had steamed as the blood flowed from multiple lacerations. The animal was beyond being helped, but she had a beautiful pelt, at least the parts that weren’t soaked in blood. For the first time ever, he couldn’t resist the temptation.

  As soon as they were out of the car and assessing the damage — the good news was that the dent on the front end was minor — George had pulled out his cell phone and started looking to see if he had good enough reception. Cullie’d snatched the phone out of his hands before he could do more than blink, and started on the browbeating.

  The good thing about George was he was wishy-washy. Five minutes was all it took in most cases to convince him to change his tune, and with Mark helping it hadn’t even taken that long.

  But he’d still wussed out and refused to take part in the fun.

  There was a part of Cullie that had always wanted to be in a situation that allowed him to try torture. He was just drunk enough that night and as an added bonus, so was Mark. Okay, so he had to give Mark the head, but it didn’t matter.

  Cullie took his time making the right cuts, not because he wasn’t in a hurry, but because the sensations he got as he started skinning the wolf alive were downright erotic. He’d never had a problem with getting laid, but this? Cutting the wolf made sex seem like a pale imitation.

  Was it sick? Yes, but he didn’t care. He liked it.

  He kept liking it, too, up until the moment the wounded animal became a woman. He was watching when it happened, amazed by the sudden transformation. One second he was peeling the fur from the broken right forepaw of a bloodied, oversized dog and the next his hands were gripping the soft, almost velvety flesh of a girl in her prime.

  Mark had staggered back, shocked by the change. Cullie would have probably backed off, too, but at that moment he experienced the most shattering orgasm of his entire life. While his friend was screaming in shock it co
vered Cullie’s own yelp of pleasure.

  Either the girl was beyond the ability to speak, or he didn’t want to remember her words. Either way, he sped up the cutting, not giving himself a chance to change his mind. There was no way the girl would live through what they had done and no way he wanted to stop now that he’d started. Without a second thought, he ran the skinning knife down her belly all the way to the edge of her sex and before Mark had even begun recovering from the shock, he gave a savage pull. Flesh peeled away just as easily on a human as it did on a deer. The difference was the deer would have been dead already and he would have missed the sounds of the girl screaming in pain.

  The best part, the thing he would never admit to anyone, was how pleasantly surprised he was to realize she was still alive, even after he’d finished skinning her. Even thinking back on it, even in his current situation, he felt himself get aroused.

  The thoughts were pushed out of his head when he heard the sound of a branch snapping in the distance. It wasn’t close by, but it was definitely closer than he wanted to think about.

  Cullie cursed under his breath and started moving faster, his eyes keeping careful track of the land in front of him.

  After the incident was finished, Cullie thought long and hard about whether or not he’d ever be able to kill another person and enjoy it the same way. He thought he would, and he’d been preparing for that possibility. Medical books can show you the most amazing things, like which clusters of nerves are most vulnerable to blunt force, and which tendons would cause crippling. He didn’t know if he’d ever get a chance to use his new skills, but he surely did hope so.

  He also didn’t know if the same spots would be vulnerable on the monster he thought was tracking him, but he prayed so with all of his heart.

  The rain started coming down even harder, the cold drops hitting like pebbles now instead of just splashing against his skin. It didn’t take much to let him see that the centers of the drops were turning into ice.

  If he was lucky, really, lucky, the rain would wash away his scent and make it harder for the things in the woods to find him. He wasn’t counting on it, but he could hope.

  His left foot slipped in the slush that was falling and Cullie took a spill into the ravine to his right. He tried to catch his balance and failed, rolling down in an uneven bounce that seemed exactly rough enough to keep him from grabbing hold of anything to slow his descent. Despite the thick layer of dead plants that coated the ground, rocks and branches still beat into him to the point where he finally gave up and pulled himself into a rough fetal position with his hands covering his face to avoid any more grievous injury.

  He came to a halt in cold, running water and sputtered as he felt the runoff cover his face. He rose as quickly as he could, shivering and spitting the water from his mouth along the way.

  “Fuck me! What the hell kind of shit is this?” All of his thoughts of surviving the night evaporated in an instant, replaced by the sudden realization that he was in the middle of nowhere and would be lucky if anyone even realized he was missing.

  Up above, where he’d been standing a moment ago, he saw movement through the surrounding trees. Cullie did his best impersonation of a statue, forcing his muscles to stay still despite the chill.

  His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness as best they could and he saw the beast as it moved into view. In the center of the diner he’d been too stunned to really see much of anything, but watching as it moved from a distance he could see the play of muscles moving under fur, the impossibility of its shape and the unsettling grace with which it moved.

  He could also see with perfect clarity when it suddenly turned its head and looked down the hill for him.

  “Oh, God, no.”

  The teeth of the black furred beast stood out remarkably well as it grinned and looked him in the eyes.

  Cullie turned and ran, his feet lifting and splashing down into the cold stream of run off, as he did his best to escape. What in God’s name had he been thinking when he was toying with actually trying to hurt that thing?

  “Ohgodohgodohgodohpleasegod.”

  The monster dropped to all fours and bounded toward the stream, its forepaws almost looked like hands, but its hind paws were designed for pushing and clawing.

  The thing leaped and cleared the last twenty feet, splashing down five yards in front of him.

  “I swear I didn’t know! I thought it was just a dog! I know I was wrong, but I didn’t know any better!”

  Hot tears spilled from his eyes, washed across his face in thin lines of warmth as the creature came closer. When it was in front of him, it rose on its hind legs and studied him with deep green eyes that showed no sign of mercy.

  Cullie was still crying when he pulled the knife from its sheath. “Fine. Come on then, you fucking pussy!”

  The werewolf lunged, growling deep in its chest, and he swung the hunting knife hard and low, trying to cut through its defenses. The blade glazed the long torso of the creature: its claws ripped into his jacket, tearing through the heavy padding and taking close to a yard of material with them.

  Barely believing his luck, Cullie swung again and this time felt the blade push through the thick fur and slice deep into the monster’s muscles. The beast grunted and twisted, taking the knife from his grip as it fell back. Blood drooled from the wound, and the black furred nightmare carefully gripped the handle in a hand never designed to carry a weapon of that size. It looked like something from a kid’s play set in that massive paw.

  Barely even letting himself think, Cullie charged and slammed his shoulder into the creature’s side, staggering it. The werewolf rolled onto its back and snarled as it hauled the hunting knife’s eight-inch blade from its ribcage.

  He didn’t know if the wound was fatal or not, he just knew he couldn’t take any chances. Cullie swung his fist hard and slammed it into the creature’s armpit, pounding at the spot where a nerve cluster would be on a human body. The creature let out another yowl as it dropped the hunting knife, and Cullie dove for the blade.

  The weapon fell into the cold waters and he reached for it, his hand scrabbling, touching first the sharpened blade — that sliced into his ring finger and his middle finger — and then grasping the hilt again.

  At exactly the same time he wrapped his hand around the weapon’s grip, the teeth of the monster sank into his foot and his calf, pushing through clothing like it was air and then driving together, cutting past flesh and meat and shoe with remarkable speed. Cullie was dropping the blade and screaming around the same time the werewolf ripped his Achilles tendon away from his body.

  Frigid water mingled with hot blood as Cullie flopped into the stream, clutching at his ruined leg with both hands.

  The werewolf shook off his hide, reversing the transformation until the man he knew as John was looking at him, panting, bleeding from his chest, and grinning around a mouthful of Cullie’s leg. He spat the piece of meat away and swayed, naked in the cold night air.

  “I thought a big hunter like you would be a challenge, Landers.” His form was human again, but the words were still a growl. “I thought you’d do more than scratch me.”

  Cullie shivered, his hands the only part of him that felt warm as blood flowed from his leg. “Just go ahead and kill me! Get it done!”

  “No. Not yet. I’m going to watch you die slowly for a while, and then when I’m sick of looking at you, I’ll finish the job.”

  Cullie reached into the waters a second time, wincing at the pain in his entire leg, and grabbed the hunting knife. The naked man stepped closer, smiling.

  “You gonna’ try to kill me, Landers? I’m right here.”

  “F-fuck you!”

  He squatted, not five feet out of Cullie’s reach and shook his head. “I’m right here, big boy.” His voice was a calculated taunt, and Cullie knew it, but he still wanted to live and he wanted the man dead almost as much. “Prove to me that you’re really a man. Prove to me that you can do someth
ing other than torture a woman to death.” John shrugged. “Do that, and maybe I’ll let you live.”

  Cullie thought hard about that, and even as he thought, he repositioned himself in the cold water. He didn’t stand, but he put most of his weight on his good leg, trying to decide if he could reach the man in front of him and hit him with the blade before John could change again.

  “That’s right, Landers… What have you got to lose? You might be able to get me, might cut my throat before I can do anything about it. You know you want to. You know if you wait too long, the blood loss will do you in, so come on…Come and get me.”

  Cullie pushed off with his good leg, and much as it hurt, he used his wounded limb to add a touch of support before he was airborne. John started moving at almost the exact same second. The distance between them grew smaller until, at last, Cullie brought the knife down, his aim was flawless and the blade plunged toward his enemy’s throat. John was faster than he looked. The weathered hands caught Cullie’s wrist and twisted hard before the knife could finish its descent. Cullie let out a yelp of frustration and then he let out a squeal of pain as his body was thrown down and he hit the rough stones John had been crouching over.

  The impact was much greater than Cullie’d expected. His front tooth splintered as it hit the rock and he let out a grunt of pain as his nose and lips were dragged across the stone. He coughed hard and tried to roll over, but before he could, John was on him. The man pulled hard at his good foot and yanked his shoe away. A second later the maniac pulled what was left of his other shoe from his other foot and Cullie almost blacked out from the exquisite pain. While he was still trying to recover from that, John reached out and pulled at his belt until it came loose. Then his pants and his underwear were next.

  Cullie bucked and panicked, convinced that the man was going to rape him. He imagined the pain and humiliation and screamed, pushing with good leg and bad alike to get away from the mad man standing naked above him in the cold waters. John’s bare foot slammed into the small of his back and knocked him back down, half drowning him before the man moved away from him.