The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1)

by Bethany Helwig

  “Okay. Weird,” I mumble to myself.

  I try to brush it off. I’m ready to get back to the cabin and have one night of peace and quiet. I’m really sick of everyone acting like creepers around here. Taking North Road, I crank up the tunes and drive about a mile out of town when a red truck races up behind me. It comes up on my bumper and stays there.

  “Oh, come on. Moron.”

  I squint past the headlights in the rearview mirror and realize it’s the same truck from the gas station. It stays right on my tail. I slow a little so maybe it’ll pass me but it keeps pace. Okay, this is getting unnerving. I hope it’ll turn off onto a driveway soon but then it speeds up and moves to pass. I slow even more to allow it to go around me. That’s when I realize it’s the lady from the gas station. As I look on, she twists the wheel and smashes the front end of her truck into the side of mine.

  I jerk hard against my seatbelt and the truck screeches in protest. I try to straighten out but she comes at me again. The truck trembles and I skid on gravel just off the shoulder. She’s trying to ram me right off the road. I yank the wheel hard and lean into the next blow. The window on the driver’s side cracks but doesn’t shatter. I silently thank Jefferson for having such a hardy old truck that can take a few hard blows.

  I’m concentrating so hard on staying on the road and keeping the lady off me that I don’t see the headlights in front of me until it’s too late. A semi roars towards me and the red pickup blocks me on the left. The only escape is going off the road.

  There’s nothing for it. I’ve got a split second to react so I yank the wheel as hard as I can to the right. The semi plows through the back end of the truck, wrenching me against the seat belt and sending me spinning out into the woods. The sound of metal twisting and glass shattering fills every space and I’m hurled this way and that, shards pelting my face until I’m slammed bodily forward against my seat belt as the truck meets a tree.

  I black out and when I come to every part of me aches and my head swims. The screeching has stopped but there’s still a ringing in my ears. I can’t move a muscle. I can only try to blink away the blood beginning to creep into the corner of my eye.

  The roar of the semi is what forces me to act. I crane my neck around and see the headlights swing about on the road to find me here, a sitting duck. I claw at my seatbelt but it’s stuck and won’t unlatch. Frantic, I rip the whole thing apart. The driver’s door is caved in and won’t open so I crawl over the bench seat scattered with glass to the passenger side. I kick and kick at the door to force it open. The whole truck groans and smoke billows out of the engine. Oh pixies, please don’t let this thing blow up on me.

  I wrench open the glove box and pull out the flashlight and mace left by Jefferson. It’s a good thing, too, because the second I manage to open the door there’s a gray wolf waiting to meet me. I cover my face and spray the mace right into the wolf’s eyes. It screeches and whines and backs away to rub its face in the thin layer of snow on the ground. I practically fall out of the remnants of the truck and kick the wolf away from me. There’s a person buried underneath all that fur but without a tranquilizer gun I don’t have any other options.

  The semi’s engine revs behind me so I dash into the woods before it speeds up and smashes into what’s left of the truck. I keep running even though I’m sure to be bleeding all over my body, my kidney feels like it’s been punched clean out of me, my left leg is killing me, and I’m completely turned around.

  We got rid of the black wolf, so why is everyone trying to kill me? Then it hits me. We got rid of a black wolf. Mr. Webster confessed too easily for me. Sure, he had been caught but he could have made some excuses. What if he’s a patsy? Lycaon could still be out there and know what I am. I’ve been flaunting my gift to help the werewolves, to cure them—a power that could in theory stop him for good.

  He’s coming to kill me.

  Chapter 28

  I keep running until I run right into a low hanging branch and am knocked flat on my back. Pain reverberates up through my spine and I lay there trying to catch my breath. I’ve got to get to the cabin and Jefferson and Hawk. If the werewolves came for me, who’s to say they wouldn’t go after the others too? If they manage to kill me, then they’ll probably try to kill Hawk too—if they don’t, he will hunt every last one of them down. It’s what I would do in the reverse.

  Since I think I’m far enough away from the crash, and hopefully that wolf won’t be able to catch my scent after being maced, I click on the flashlight. It’s a good thing I stopped where I did because there’s a swamp ten feet ahead that I almost ran into. I dig in my pocket but my cell phone’s gone. I must have lost it in the car crash. I swing the flashlight around but keep it low to the ground so hopefully I won’t draw attention. I hear a car in the distance and make for that. If there’s a car, then there’s a road. If it’s a road, then hopefully it’s Soldier Road and I can run the rest of the way.

  There’s a significant amount of brush and I make a terrible racket trying to escape it. Branches cling to me and threaten to tear at my mother’s jacket. I push and struggle and trip my way along until it clears away and the ground slopes into a ditch. Pavement painted with yellow and white lines stretches in front of me. I move at a crouch to the edge of the road and look both ways. There are no cars but I see a farm field that I recognize. I’m not far from the cabin.

  I clamber onto the road and start to run. My flashlight bobs dizzyingly up and down so I flick it off. It’s a beacon for someone else to find me anyway. There’s enough moonlight piercing through the light haze of snow that I can make out where I’m going. I wipe my hand across my face to keep the blood away from my eye and pluck a small shard of glass out of my eyebrow. My head is pounding but I can’t let up. I’m in danger. Hawk’s in danger. Jefferson’s in danger. We messed up. We played against someone so old and clever that we were bound to lose the game. Of course someone as old as Lycaon wouldn’t be so tactless as to make their sinister plan so obvious, having all the werewolves invite everyone to the dance. It was a ruse to make us believe sincerely that Mr. Webster was the mastermind. Now all our backup is gone except for useless Agent Smith.

  Narrow pines tower over me marking Jefferson’s property and I race down the driveway. The floodlights are off but the black SUV is back and parked in front of the cabin. I stagger to the door and fling it open. Agent Smith emerges from Jefferson’s room and freezes when he sees me.

  “Phoenix? What on earth—”

  “I was attacked,” I say and move to lean against the table. In the light of the cabin I can make out all the blood on my hands and the tears in my mother’s jacket. Yeah, now I’m ready to kill someone.

  “By who?” he asks.

  “The werewolves. I don’t think we got the right man. Mr. Webster isn’t—” I stop and stare at Agent Smith. “Why were you in Jefferson’s room?”

  “I was grabbing a cord for the T.V.”

  “He doesn’t let anyone in there.”

  He shakes his head and pulls out his phone. “How about we forget about movie night and worry about the current situation? I’m calling for backup. If Lycaon is still out there, then we need to stop him.”

  He dials a number, misses a few buttons and has to redial. I stare as the puzzle pieces fall into place. I had never mentioned the name Lycaon to any of the IMS agents. It was a secret between me, Jefferson, and Hawk. I’m pretty sure none of them ever mentioned it to the agents either. Then there’s that story about how we’ll still be working cases when Witty was positive we were getting canned. Almost like Agent Smith was trying to lull us into a fall sense of security. If he even is Agent Smith anymore.

  I’ve noticed the signs but didn’t put them together until just now. He’s fumbling for simple things, reaching too far, or not being familiar with his grip, like he’s not use to the shape of his own body. It wouldn’t be the first time a shapeshifter has worked alongside the werewolves. This all started because a couple were sif
ting through werewolf records. Were they working for Lycaon?

  “Yeah, we need a backup team ASAP to the Moose Lake Field Office,” Smith says into his cell phone. “We’ve got a situation. Our previous plan didn’t work. We didn’t get our man.”

  “You’re supposed to give your agent identification,” I say and straighten. “They won’t send a team until you verify your identity.”

  He cocks his head. “No, this is the direct line to my team leader.”

  “Oh, okay. You’re right.”

  He smiles and keeps chatting with someone on the other end to confirm we need backup. I twist the mace around in my hand so I have a firm grip on the button. He hangs up and keeps that eerie smile in place.

  “So, where’s Hawk?” I ask and stay exactly where I am. I let the flashlight in my other hand slide down a bit so I can grip it more like a club.

  “Taking a leak.” He points to the bathroom but there’s no light under the door.

  “And Jefferson?”

  “Getting some stuff from the barn.”

  I nod slowly. “I should probably get cleaned up. Jefferson keeps bandages out in the barn.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “No, I’m okay. Really. Jefferson will help me.”

  I don’t want to turn my back but if he still thinks I’m in the dark, then I need to get out of here and get my hands on a real weapon. If this guy’s not only a shapeshifter but a berserker, I’m going to need one if I’m going to survive. I’m in no state for a fight. Besides I need to see if Jefferson really is out in the barn or if he’s disappeared. I don’t even want to think if Hawk and Jefferson are more than missing . . .

  I turn to the open doorway and start to walk outside when I hear a gun cock. My brain instantly recalls the moments in movies where the hero has their back turned and their ally points a gun at their head. One thing I never got was why they didn’t move when they still had a chance. I decided a long time ago that if I ever got in the same position, I wouldn’t wait for the bad guy to start his monologue and force me to do something. If I had the opportunity, I would be the first to move.

  So I leap sideways out the door as the gun fires. Wood chips spray over my shoulder but I’m not hit. I pull up tight against the outside wall and lift my flashlight at the ready in my hand. I’m not going to run and hide when Jefferson and Hawk are either captive or—no, they’re going to be fine. They’re both smart. I just need to find them, and this shapeshifter is going to give me some answers.

  The second I see the barrel of the gun peek out the doorway I swing my leg up to redirect the gun to the sky. It goes off again when the shapeshifter’s hands slam into the upper frame of the doorway. With his arms up and out of the way for a split second, I slam the flashlight into his face. He’s off balance and swings the gun blindly in my direction. I drop what’s in my hands to grab his wrist and turn into his body to send an elbow into his gut, in the same motion twisting the gun out of his hands. When I spin back around I send a well-placed kick into his chest to knock him flat and aim the gun at his face.

  I put some distance between us so he can’t try to kick out my legs. His stunned expression and bloody nose gives me some satisfaction.

  “Now,” I pant. “You’re going to tell me where Hawk and Jefferson are, and what you did with the real Agent Smith.”

  He smiles and it’s really hideous given there’s blood covering his teeth. I guess I hit him in the face pretty hard. “You’re just a little girl in over your head. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

  “How soon is your backup arriving?” I press.

  He laughs and his eyes flicker to something behind me. I can’t help it. I look. Several wolves emerge from the forest. In my very stupid decision to turn my attention away from the shapeshifter, he dashes into Jefferson’s room and I hear a window crash. Ballsy escape but I’ve got other problems to deal with now. I really don’t want to shoot anyone so I race the werewolves to the barn.

  They bark and howl and snap at my heels as I shoulder my way through the door and take the steps up to the loft three at a time. Lying on top of the table is the tranquilizer gun. My fingers barely manage to graze the grip when a set of jaws grab the back of my shoe and pull. I fall face first onto the floor and start being dragged backwards. This would be a seriously bad way to die. So I kick and kick until I shake the one werewolf loose and scrabble for anything around me. I grab a blanket, roll onto my back, and lift it up between my hands as one of the wolves lunges. It catches the blanket in its teeth and I yank it to the side to throw it off balance. Its body angles enough so I can plant a foot on its chest and shove it backwards away from me.

  The next wolf pushes past the others and it’s too close. When it lunges I have to grab onto either side of its neck to stop it from ripping my face off. Its hot breath washes over me and I’m covered in dog spittle as it chomps and chomps on empty air. I dig my fingers into its fur and twist in my knuckles to block off its blood supply to the brain. The other two are struggling up and not giving me enough time to knock the one out so I’m forced to improvise again. I get both my feet under the wolf’s body and fling it backwards into the other two.

  I roll onto my stomach, push up, and grab the gun. Locked and loaded, I spin about and pop one, two, three. The wolves stagger against each other before falling into an unmoving heap. I wish I could relax but a fourth comes snarling up the stairs. It has a reddish coat. For a second I’m terrified it’s Hawk but then realize the color’s slightly off and he’s not quite as tall.

  “Ben? That you?” I ask and keep the gun trained on him. “Okay, this is how it’s going to work. You’re going to help me find my brother and Jefferson. I don’t care what Lycaon’s done to you.”

  I keep one hand on the gun but the other I stretch out towards him. Nothing’s going to stop me from finding my brother and ending this for good. Ben halts at the top of the steps and continues to snarl but eventually falls silent. I keep pressing and I’m shaking worse than ever. He hangs his head, tucks in his tail, and whines. I get up and walk backwards so I can lean against the table but keep pressing.

  Blood is dripping out of my nose by the time Ben finally shifts and kneels on the stairs as a boy. He’s breathing almost as hard as I am. I keep the gun trained on him until he looks up and holds out his hands.

  “It’s me again,” he gasps. “Just me. Phoenix, I’m so sorry.”

  “Stow it.” I set the gun down and wipe the back of my hand under my nose, really just smearing the blood around. “As you can probably tell, I’m in no state to put up with crap. My brother’s missing, Jefferson is missing, Agent Smith has been a shapeshifter since he came back for all I know, and everyone’s trying to kill me. Try and tell me this day doesn’t suck.”

  “Shapeshifter? There are shape—”

  “Focus, Ben. Hawk and Jefferson. Do you know where they are?”

  He hangs his head and grasps at his ruffled hair. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to remember anything.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that. You know. It’s buried in that thick skull of yours.” I push off the table and stagger over to grasp his shoulder. “Think, Ben.”

  His eyes glue onto my hand. I don’t know if it comforts him or freaks him out. He nods ever so slowly.

  “I think . . . the park. The state park, close to the lake.”

  “Well, that’s fantastic.” I’ve got great memories of being bitten there and Deputy Graham disappearing out that way. It’s the perfect setting for a final showdown, I guess.

  I take Ben’s hand and haul him to his feet. “Okay, you’re coming with me. You’re all the backup I have. You don’t happen to have a phone on you, do you?”

  “No, sorry.”

  Transportation’s the first thing on my mind. The truck’s a twisted shell. Jefferson’s going to love that. The only option is the Green Monster. I scan the wall and give a sigh of relief when I spot the car keys hanging on their hook. I snatch them up and pass by my parents�
�� open file box. The pearl-handled .45 catches my eye. My mother’s final defense. It feels only fitting that I take it with, my final defense to save Hawk. I rip apart the plastic bag to check the sliding action and magazine. Its magazine is almost full of red bullets—just missing the two my mother fired in her final moments. Silver harming werewolves is an old wives’ tale, but these bullets, coated with a mixture made from wolfsbane, are meant to put a werewolf down for good.

  I tuck it into the back of my waistband and pick up the tranquilizer gun. A first aid kit sits on a nearby shelf so I haul it onto the table and start ripping out bandages. I do a poor job wiping blood off myself because I don’t have time to take a better assessment of my injuries, but it’ll have to do. Ben stands on the stairs watching me and looks helpless. I find another tranquilizer gun Jefferson had been cleaning and load it as fast as I can before shoving it into Ben’s hand.

  “You ever handle a gun before?” I ask and start pushing him down the stairs.

  “Not really.”

  “It’s easy. Point and shoot. Just be close enough because these darts will fall short otherwise.”

  He tries to turn around to talk to me but I keep moving him along towards the car. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

  “Neither am I if I can help it. These are tranquilizers.”

  I yank the tarp off the car to unveil the Green Monster’s flawless green paint job. Ben slides into the passenger seat, holding his gun like it’s a grenade, and I buckle into the driver’s seat. At the turn of the key the engine roars to life and the last song Jefferson had been playing kicks on. It’s “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC.