by Terry Yates
Potts peered down the pass. “Soldiers, stay with me! Civilians, head for the bunker! Fulton, take point! Now go!”
FranAnne saluted and motioned for the group to follow her. She didn’t know whether to be insulted by Potts not including her as one of the soldiers, or whether to be flattered that she was ordered to take point.
The group began to run out of the pass into the field that they had run through earlier that day. Potts, Hawkins, Cohen, and Gibson stayed behind.
“What are we doing, Colonel?” Cohen asked, still panting like the rest of the group.
“We’re gonna try to slow it down a might!”
CHAPTER 29
The beast howled as it reached the pass. It tried to move forward, but stumbled sideways instead. Instinct told it that whatever the female two-legger had stuck in it was starting to make it logy and confused. It was having trouble sniffing out the pack of two-leggers. It sensed that they had run through the pass, but it wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem to matter at that moment, because every time that it tried to run, it stumbled and fell. The blood from both the old two-legger and the she-two legger had revived it some. Their blood was warm as it worked its way through its body. It felt stronger every minute, but it would have to fight off the bad thing that was put into it.
The thing made its way to its feet. Relax, its instincts told it. Prick up your ears and put your nose to the air. Sniff out their location or listen for the sound of the wounded. It did as its instincts told it. It searched for any sign of the herd of two-leggers. Nothing. Either the two-leggers were extremely clever or the water that fell from the sky was mixing up their scents. It decided to go through the pass. If the herd hadn’t gone through the pass, then maybe it could find some other animal, maybe a cat or a squirrel, but it wouldn’t be the same. Nothing sated it like two or three two-leggers. Its mouth panted in anticipation as it began to walk through the pass. Its legs still wobbled, but it got used to it and began to compensate every time that its equilibrium went from one side to the other. It tried to run, but fell again. It got back to its feet and fell once more, growling loudly and howling into the air. It would have to move slowly at first, but once it got used to the bad medicine, it would shake it off like it had before. It knew that one more two-legger would revive it completely. It stood up one last time, shook its wet fur and began to move through the pass.
Potts sat up on the side of the hill with Sgt. Cohen, both men hunkered down into a squat. They were trying to stay low and out of sight as well as bracing themselves from the storm. On the hill opposite of them, sat Privates Hawkins and Gibson in exactly the same position as their senior officers.
Potts had decided that trying to kill the thing might be a huge waste of time, but he thought that slowing it down might allow everyone to make it to the bunker. If the thing was tranqued like the doctor said, and moving slowly, maybe a couple of dozen bullets might slow it down, so they were going to sit and wait until it came down the pass, and then try to ambush it from both sides of the pass, get it in a crossfire and, who knows, maybe somehow kill it or at least get its eyes and blind it. It was the waiting that was killing him. If there was going to be a fight, he had just soon get on with it, and not have to sit around in the wind and the rain and hope they crossed paths with it. He had originally thought of meeting it, maybe catch it while the sedatives were really going strong, but decided against it. That might be exactly what the thing wanted, to lure them into a false sense of security like it had done in the mess hall when he had shot it. No, it was best to just wait the thing out.
CHAPTER 30
FranAnne was keeping a good, steady pace ahead of them. A gust of wind had knocked her cap off, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have time for retrieving caps or anything else that wasn’t important to the situation at hand. She almost started to laugh at the thought. She was becoming like Potts himself who didn’t worry about things that he couldn’t do anything about. She was ordered to get these people to the bunker and that was exactly what she was going to do…get them to the bunker.
Kyler was jogging along just behind her, constantly looking back over his shoulder for the creature. Once when he looked over his shoulder, he saw that Zora was right behind him, running with Shelly Dixon who wasn’t looking too good. When he made eye contact with her, Zora tried to force a smile, but it was pointless. The Dixon baby was crying loudly now, which was a good sign. It meant that the she was all right…for now, and that Shelly knew and realized the same thing.
As he ran, he couldn’t stop thinking about Burt Burns and the way that thing had lain across his body like a lover, but wasn’t exuding one ounce of love…unless it was its love of flesh, blood, bone, and carnage. It had literally torn him apart. He still wondered what had happened to Opal and Wilbur Munn. Had they gotten away from the thing, or had they also gone the way of Burt Burns and were working their way through its digestive system as Burt was doing at that very moment. He didn’t want to think about it. Even though Opal had become very odd and scary after her bite, she had once been a sweet old lady who had come to him with a hip that she had broken while getting out of the bathtub. Knowing he was a bachelor, she had brought him cakes and pies and bread that would’ve made Paul Prudhomme salivate. The bite had changed her, but how? How had this monster completely changed her whole physiological makeup? It was unfathomable, but so was everything else that had happened in the last two days. If someone had told him yesterday morning that he would be running away from a man/beast into the second hurricane of the day, he would’ve probably called the Twinkie mobile and told them that they had mislaid one of their charter members.
The group continued to move slowly but steadily. The fact that they had not heard gunshots in the fifteen minutes since they’d left the soldiers, made the run a little easier, even though they still kept the same sense of urgency. They didn’t want to get overconfident only to find the thing waiting for them at the bunker, leaning against the wall with a toothpick between its teeth, patting its full belly, and belching happily.
Michael Blum had decided to walk and give Sam and Zack Olsen, who had been helping to carry him after Pvt. Gibson had stayed behind with the others, a break. His leg hurt, but he was able to keep up by limp running. He had fallen once, but that was at the beginning of the run. Once he got the hang of it, he actually began to keep up with the pack, actually passing Nurse Walling who was pretty much spent at that point, only keeping up through sheer will.
Gringo was now carrying Samantha. He could see the blood seeping through the handkerchief. Her eyes were completely closed now, but she would still moan lightly every few seconds. Sylvia Morrison was running blindly behind them, hanging on to Gringo’s belt for guidance. Zack Olsen had once again joined his father. When he had helped carry Michael, he’d had to let go of his father and since there was no one left to help him, he’d had to fend for himself. Fortunately, like blind cattle, he just fell in behind everyone else as they ran, looking at the ground as he did so. Every once in a while, Dr. Kyler would come back and make sure that he was still moving, but for the most part, Rob Olsen ran alone. Locklear and Ariella each had one of Lauren’s arms as they ran. She grimaced in pain, her stomach hurting with every step, but she didn’t complain or ask anyone to stop. Sam Fong brought up the rear, although there really wasn’t a rear. The fifteen of them were pretty much in a cluster, moving as one across the field, FranAnne trying to dodge all of the previous day’s debris as she led them. The wind and the rain were at their back, so they were making good time, if good time meant moving at about five miles an hour.
FranAnne looked up with every lightning bolt to get her bearings. If she weren’t mistaken, they were several hundred yards from the end of the field, and after that a good fifty yards till they reached the bunker gates, leaving about another forty yards to the actual building itself. So all in all, moving as slowly as they were, they should reach the building in about fifteen to twenty minutes, excluding the fact that a second hurri
cane might hit them full force before they even got there.
“Come on, FranAnne!” she muttered. “You can do this! Come on, you Mayberry livin’, grit eating, dyke private, you! Run! Move it! Show Old Iron Ass who got these people to safety!”
Kyler heard her yelling to herself, but was uninterested, because the baby had begun to wail even louder, if that was possible. Oh good! If the werewolf wasn’t sure where they were, it would soon know, because little Kayla Dixon was giving it her all. He wanted to stop and let Shelly rock her or feed her or something, but they just didn’t have the time.
“Hush…little baby…don’t…say…” he tried to sing, but he was so short of breath, he just said screw it, and let the baby yell.
“There’s the end of the field!” FranAnne screamed over her shoulder, pointing in front of her.
Kyler looked ahead and saw the outline of a lone street lamp, which had survived the first hurricane. It stood like a lighthouse before them, using itself as a beacon.
“Almost there, Baby!” Kyler said to the gym bag. “Almost there.”
CHAPTER 31
“What are you doing, you sumbitch?” Potts asked under his breath. They’d been waiting for over twenty-five minutes now for the beast to show itself, but they had not seen as much as a shadow or heard a growl.
“What do you think, Sgt. Cohen?” he asked loudly, not looking back at him.
Cohen had spent most of the last twenty-five minutes with his head down, trying to keep the rain off of his face.
“Sir?”
Still in a squat, Potts shifted his weight and turned around. “I asked you what you thought about us waiting here for the thing?”
“I really hadn’t given it must thought, Sir?” he answered. Potts had never asked anyone for their opinion since he’d known him…and that was a long time.
“Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” Potts asked, looking him dead in the eye, the rain falling off his flat top head and down onto his face.
“I’m not sure what the right thing is, Sir?” Cohen replied. “I’ve never come up against an enemy that couldn’t be killed before.”
Potts looked as if he were actually contemplating what the MP had told him. After a moment, he smiled, another thing Cohen had seldom seen him do.
“There’s no enemy that can’t be killed, Sergeant. Trust me on that one. If it doesn’t die by the usual methods, then it must die in some other way. It’s all about figuring out what that way is.”
Cohen tried to pay attention to the colonel, but was having difficulty. Between his sore leg muscles and his lack of sleep, he couldn’t think straight. He’d been on missions like this one before, sans werewolf, of course. He’d gone without sleep, rest, OR rations for days at a time, but now…he was just beat. For the first time in his life, he felt old. Fifty-two wasn’t old by normal standards, but by non-officer soldier standards, it was ancient. He’d once overheard a noncom say that it was “Sgt. Cohen…God…and then Methuselah…in that order.” It hadn’t bothered him much. His age was not lost on him, he just wished that he had aspired to more, maybe become an officer, or something. He was an intelligent man, and God knew that it didn’t take much intelligence to be an officer.
He wanted to lay down right there, with the rain coming down on him, but with Potts next to him, there was no way that was going to happen. He looked up to see Potts watching Gibson and Hawkins who were on the hill opposite them. The two privates seemed to be talking to one another.
“We shouldn’t have left them together,” Potts said aloud. “We should’ve each taken one. I tell them to keep an eye out and what do they do…sit up there, shooting the shit like they don’t have a care in the world.”
Cohen watched the two men. They were kids, neither one much over the age of twenty. It’s what kids do when the boredom sets in. He wanted to tell the colonel to just leave ‘em be. Let ‘em be kids.
Potts and Cohen watched as Hawkins began to walk down the hill. Potts had told them that under no condition must they move from their spot, but there was one of them, walking down to the bottom of the hill.
“Get back up that hill!” Potts ordered, his hands cupped in front of his mouth. Hawkins didn’t respond. He hadn’t heard him.
Potts waved both of his arms trying to get his attention. Seeing this, Cohen joined in, waving his hands and yelling, but the storm was too loud for Hawkins to hear them.
As he started to reach the bottom of the hill, he slipped on the wet grass and slid the rest of the way down the hill on his ass.
“Godammit!” Potts screamed. “Get back up that hill or my boots are gonna be kickin’ your balls from here to Tuesday!”
Still Hawkins didn’t look up. Cohen was mulling over what Potts just said, chuckling to himself, wondering if Potts had really understood what he had just yelled. When he reached the bottom of the hill, Hawkins stood up, unzipped his pants and began to urinate. He had fallen down the hill and possibly into the path of the werewolf all because he had to pee. Hawkins opened his mouth and smiled in sheer relief, shaking as he let the stream flow. By the looks of it, he had been waiting a long time. Why hadn’t he just peed down the hill like any other kid would’ve done?
Cohen thought that this might be a good time to relieve himself. He hadn’t really noticed that his bladder was full until he saw the ecstasy on Hawkins face while emptying his. He started to stand up, but wasn’t sure whether he should get permission first. Ah, permission to pee…what had he come to? To hell with it, he would just step away a few feet and then let go, permission or no permission.
As he stood up, he saw a strange look come across Potts’ face. He seemed to be staring over at Gibson who still sat on the side of the hill, patting his boots as if he were playing the drums.
Potts stood up suddenly, almost slipping on the wet grass as he did. Cohen looked at Potts, then back across the pass again. What was he looking at? Had he finally snapped his cap? Had too many years of being a hard ass finally caught up to him and made him yet another candidate for the Freaky Deaky Foundation?
“What is it, Colonel?”
Potts didn’t answer. The sergeant followed his gaze across to the other hill. He wiped the rain from his face to get a better look. He still couldn’t see anything, until a lightning bolt lit up the sky…and then he saw it. There was something at the top of the hill that he hadn’t noticed before, something that sat motionless. From across the pass, it looked to be about the same size as of a tree stump, but it wasn’t a tree stump. There were no trees on any of the hills. And then it moved…slowly, at first….down the side of the hill toward the unseeing Gibson.
“Oh no…” Potts said softly.
It was the werewolf. It was creeping down the hill, crawling slowly like a dog would…if a dog could move upside down, its front and back claws digging into the side of the hill.
“No! No! No!” Potts exclaimed, his voice becoming louder. “Get away from there!”
Cohen joined in the yelling. “Hey! Hey! Gibson! Gibson! Get out of there!”
Pvt. Gibson didn’t look up. The storm was too loud. He continued to sit cross-legged, tapping on his boots. Potts pulled his revolver, aimed it at the other hill, and then began to fire off rounds. Gibson looked up, startled. At the bottom of the hill, Hawkins was zipping his pants up. He immediately turned his gaze up to Potts and Cohen, saw them shooting at the other hill, then looked up behind him where Gibson, who was now standing, looked back at them, confused.
“Run!” Potts shouted, still shooting rounds at the beast, knowing that it was too far away to hit with anything more than a rifle.
The werewolf began to move quickly now toward Gibson who still hadn’t seen it. Hawkins stood motionless. From his angle, he could only see Gibson. He pulled his revolver, but wasn’t sure what to do. He kept looking back and forth from one hill to the other.
The thing was crawling down the hill at an unbelievably fast pace, closing the gap between itself and Gibson. Finally, Gibson
pulled his gun, and turned around. By the time he saw it, it was too late. The thing was no more than five feet away from him. Just before it reached him, it stood up on the side of the hill, turned its head to the sky and howled. Gibson shot at it three times in succession. The beast grabbed its side and then its chest and howled in pain, but quickly recovered, its body language telling Potts and Cohen that it was really pissed off now.
As the beast reached for Gibson, he slipped on the wet grass, and began sliding down the hill. The beast jumped at him and also began to slide down the hill after him. The two seemed to tumble endlessly down the slope. Hawkins now saw two objects coming down the hill and moved out of the way.
Cohen looked up to see Potts sliding down the hill on his ass, straight toward the inevitable crash. The sergeant wasn’t sure what to do. Fear had gripped him like an iron fist around his throat.
Gibson hit the bottom of the hill with a thud, and tried to get up, but the beast rolled down on top of him and the two seemed intertwined for a moment. Gibson screamed as the beast began biting and clawing at him. Hawkins, who was no more than ten feet away, began to pump round after round into the melee, not exactly sure who he was hitting…and not really caring. Gibson was his best friend, and if that thing was chomping down on him, Hawkins was pretty sure that Gibson would rather him shoot him than leave him to the werewolf’s powerful jaws.
The werewolf continued to howl in pain as the bullets hit it, but it didn’t stop clawing at the motionless Gibson. It took one final bite out of the young two-legger’s throat and let the warm blood, flesh, and muscle slide down its throat. Now it howled in euphoric ecstasy, its strength starting to return.
Potts reached the bottom of the hill, just as the creature stood up, straddling its latest prey and howling at the sky like a warrior who had just defeated its archenemy. Sgt. Cohen watched as Potts began to fire rounds into it while Hawkins put a second clip into his revolver. The sergeant couldn’t stand it any longer. He was a soldier dammit! He jumped down the hill on his butt to join the others, shooting at the thing as he did so.