by Jeff Strand
Ally was halfway out of the window. It would've been convenient and hilarious if she got stuck, but she was making fairly rapid progress.
And then she was through.
Shit, shit, shit, and shit.
George scrambled into the back and picked up the gun. He frantically loaded the second dart.
Please don't start slaughtering people. Please don't start slaughtering people. Please don't start slaughtering people.
Two cars being in the driveway didn't bode well for nobody being home. And the snowman was even scarier.
He slid open the van door and got out. Two cars had parked on the side of the road, and one of the drivers was already out of his vehicle. Ally wasn't running toward him. Nor was she running toward the open front door, where a woman and a young boy stood. She'd dropped to all fours and was running toward the woods behind the house.
If she made it past the trees, he'd never catch her. Not a chance in hell.
"Animal control!" he shouted, waving the gun in the air. "Everybody stay back!"
The woman ushered the boy back inside and closed the door.
George extended his arm and took careful aim. He'd never fired a tranquilizer dart before the one that hit Lou, and he doubted it was anywhere near as accurate as a bullet. On the plus side, Ally didn't seem acclimated to her new form and her gait was kind of awkward.
Behind him, a woman screamed. George didn't let that distract him. Focus...focus...
He squeezed the trigger.
Ally let out a soft yelp.
Holy crap! He'd done it!
She kept running, but her pace slowed. Then she disappeared into the woods.
George turned around. "I need you to clear the area!" he said, trying to sound like somebody in a position of authority. There were two people walking toward him and a couple more cars had parked. "It's too dangerous to be here. Please return to your vehicles."
"What the hell was that thing?" a woman asked.
"It's rabid," said George, not really answering her question. "I need you to vacate the premises. Seriously. It's for your own safety."
A man had taken out his cell phone. Surprisingly, he seemed to be making an actual call instead of taking a picture.
"Sir? There's no need to contact anybody. I have this under control."
"Under control? That thing ran into the woods!"
"I understand that. But there's a serious financial risk if the media..." Fuck it. George didn't have time to try to bargain with these people. He ignored the witnesses and his own agony and hurried off into the woods.
Ally had only made it about twenty feet in before collapsing. She was still in her wolf form, thank God. That would make her a lot more difficult to drag back to the van, but onlookers would be less likely to try to prevent him from taking away a wolf-creature than a teenaged girl, although they'd probably wonder why the wolf was wearing a dress.
This would be a hell of a lot easier with Lou helping him, but he couldn't really blame his partner for being unconscious, given the circumstances.
He grabbed Ally underneath the arms and dragged her through the snow. He wondered how efficient the Tropper police department was in responding to emergency calls. Hopefully they sucked.
This wasn't so bad. He'd dragged unconscious bodies before. Getting her back into the van would be more of a challenge, but he had this, no problem.
He dragged her out of the woods and into the yard.
Several people were watching George as he dragged Ally toward the van. He didn't mind gawkers as long as they didn't try to interfere. Hopefully nobody was thinking to take down the license plate number, though George planned to ditch the van as soon as he could. He kept his head down, trying to be as non-photogenic as possible.
"What's going on?" the woman demanded. "What is that?"
"I already told you, it's a Rabid. It's still alive, as far as I can tell, so any smart person would get back in their car."
"Where are you taking it?"
George started to say "The Center for Disease Control," then decided that starting a citywide panic was not in his best interest. "Just a lab," he said.
"What kind of lab?"
"If you're going to just stand there talking, do you think maybe you could help me with this thing? Take the feet."
The woman did not take the feet.
George dragged Ally to the van. He hoped it was still drivable after three collisions. He'd drawn enough unwelcome attention already—forcing somebody to give him their car would be a last resort.
He left Ally on the ground next to the side of the van and opened the driver's side door. Lou was still flopped over, snoring. Moving his big ass out of the way was going to be much more challenging than dragging a werewolf through the snow.
"You're bleeding," the woman said.
George nodded. "Yep. She got me good."
"Do you need a first aid kit?"
"That would be lovely."
The woman walked back toward her car. George gestured to his bloody chest. "How come she was the first one to offer? You've all just been standing there watching me bleed. I thought Minnesotans were supposed to be polite?"
Okay, no time to scold. George took a deep breath, then began the unpleasant task of moving his very large partner out of the front seat. George's muscles and bruised-up skin did not respond well to this, and it felt like his arms were being twisted around like a leg coming off a roasted chicken, but he worked as fast as he could and got Lou out of the way without too much wasted time or humiliation.
He turned the key in the ignition. The engine started. Mr. Reith knew how to pick a good van.
Still no sound of sirens, but there was a zero percent chance that nobody had called the cops, so he really needed to get moving.
The woman returned with the first aid kit. "Thanks," said George. "Can I keep this? I think I'll need the whole thing."
"Uh, sure."
"Thank you. If you've got a business card I'll mail you a replacement."
"No, no, that's fine."
"Okay. Back away now."
The woman backed away. George had kept in shape during his months of hiding out (more so than Lou, who'd gone more than a bit soft) so, with some effort and lots of whispered cursing, he was able to get Ally into the back of the van. He slid the door shut.
Inside the house, he could see the woman and boy peeking at him through the window. The woman looked conflicted, as if trying to reconcile her desire to have the wrecked car issue addressed with her desire to not be outside with a thug dragging around a wolf-girl.
"I'll be in touch," George told everybody. He got into the driver's seat of the van, slammed the door shut, and waved through the broken windows. He backed out of the driveway while at least three of the witnesses took his picture. Nothing he could do about that. He had neither the means nor the desire to kill everybody who'd seen him. Mr. Dewey would crap his pants with fury when he found out how badly this had gone, but, in the end, George had captured the werewolf, as instructed.
As long as the cops didn't stop him.
George drove away from the scene of the crime, quickly but not too quickly.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hard Bargain
George did hear sirens shortly after he drove off, but they weren't close enough to create a "floor the gas pedal and scream 'You'll never take me alive, coppers!'" sense of urgency. He was more worried about Ally recovering and leaping out the window again. Until he got something to better secure her, he was going to operate under the potentially fatal assumption that Lou would wake up first, giving him some warning.
Though he wasn't skilled at pursuing somebody, George was quite experienced in the art of the getaway. A few sudden turns and he was confident that nobody who'd witnessed the werewolf action was following him. A few more turns and he was in a nice secluded area, a single-lane path surrounded by woods.
He stopped the van and shut off the engine.
He poked at Lou's side. "L
ou? Hey, Lou? Wanna wake up for me, buddy?"
Lou did not stir. This was for the best, since the deeper he was under, the less chance that Ally would wake up at an inopportune moment.
The dashboard was covered with snow and more was falling in through the broken windshield, but George had more pressing issues than being cold and miserable. He took the cell phone out of the glove compartment and called the one number that was programmed into it.
There was an answer after the first ring. "Yes?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Reith."
"George. I've been watching TV. Not a subtle kidnapper, are you?"
"Nope. You know what would be nice? Accurate information. If somebody tells me that a werewolf I'm carting around isn't going to transform, I'd like for that to actually be the case. That would be a refreshing change of pace."
"I'll note that for the future. Where are you?"
"We're safe."
Mr. Reith was silent for a very long moment. "George," he finally said, "I sincerely hope that you're not planning to add any difficulty to my life."
"Nah. I just have a few questions."
"Now is not the time."
"Yeah, well, you can answer my questions or you can blow me. Why did you send Lou and I on this job?"
"Redemption."
"I'm not buying that. You didn't tell us her name, you didn't give us any time to scope out the situation, you didn't give us the cage or even a frickin' net. We were set up to fail."
"Did you fail?"
"Almost!"
"You were given the opportunity to prove yourself," said Mr. Reith. "I'm honestly astonished that you don't understand or appreciate that."
"Because you're full of shit. No way is The Redemption of George Orton and Lou Flynn more important than delivering the werewolf to Mr. Dewey. So you're going to tell me what's going on, or we'll sell her to the highest bidder."
"Do you have any idea what you're—?"
"Start talking or I'm shattering this phone against a wall."
"Do what you feel is necessary."
"Okay. Blow me." George disconnected the call then powered down the phone so that Mr. Reith couldn't trace it. Or at least to decrease the likelihood that Mr. Reith could trace it. George didn't understand the technology of phone tracing very well.
If everything had gone smoothly, George might have stuck to the plan, but now he and Lou had become a much more problematic loose end. Mr. Dewey would execute them for sure, unless George could negotiate his way out of this, or maybe figure out the deal with Mr. Reith.
He'd give the old man a few minutes to stew in his own juices, then call him back.
Even if Mr. Reith couldn't trace the location of his cell phone, he might have put a tracking device in the vehicle. If that was the case, hanging out in the van was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, George had an unconscious partner and a werewolf to deal with, and a van that needed to stay off the road as much as possible. He couldn't just leave Lou and Ally here. If Ally escaped, he'd lose all of his bargaining power.
George was a man of action, but his best course of action right now was to sit in this freezing van and wait. And to use the first aid kit to bandage up the gashes on his chest.
Exactly five minutes after he'd hung up, George powered up the phone again and called Mr. Reith back.
"Have you decided to listen to reason?" Mr. Reith asked.
"Nah."
"All right, then. I guess I have no choice." Mr. Reith cleared his throat. "I despise Mr. Dewey. I have hated that son of a bitch for twenty-six years, and yes, I wanted to make him sweat. I was not inclined to let this job go without its share of complications."
"So you're admitting that you set us up to fail?"
"Not to fail. To succeed in a messier fashion."
"Sorry, I'm afraid I have to call bullshit again, sir. As bad as things went, they could've gone a lot worse. You wouldn't risk the whole thing just to stress him out. Either you wanted it done or you didn't. Give me a better answer the next time I call."
George hung up on him and shut off the phone. He usually tried to be respectful toward those who could have him slowly tortured to death, but he needed Mr. Reith to know that he was calling the shots. At least for now.
He poked Lou again. No response. He had no idea how long he'd be out from this tranquilizer dart, but it couldn't be all that long, could it?
Why was George even trying to guess? It wasn't as if he was a zookeeper or a big game hunter. They could be out for three weeks, for all he knew.
He sighed. Costa Rica hadn't been so bad.
If only he had something with which to secure Ally.
The seatbelt?
In her animal form, she wouldn't know to press the button to free herself, would she? She might be able to snap it, but, still, it was better than nothing.
Well, yeah, if he wanted a savage homicidal werewolf sitting right next to him, shredding him while he tried to drive.
Not his brightest idea. At least he hadn't said it out loud to anybody.
If he didn't work things out with Mr. Reith on the next call, he was going to have to take the risk and return to the road. He'd much rather wait until nightfall, when there was less chance of being spotted, but he didn't know how much time he had. They'd gone all the way to Ontario to collect George and Lou for this job, so Mr. Reith and Mr. Dewey would at least pretend that they were going to try to talk things out with him.
He wiped some snow off the dashboard.
There had to be a way out of this mess. None came to mind, but he wasn't yet willing to accept that he was screwed. If no plan worked out, he supposed he could always just wait for Ally to change back, drop her off on the side of the road, and then speed out of Tropper and go back into hiding.
Maybe that should be Plan A.
It really sucked not being able to bounce bad ideas off of Lou.
He powered up the phone again and called Mr. Reith. While waiting for him to answer, George had thought that he might start off the conversation by calling him "sweetheart," but by the time Mr. Reith actually answered George had decided that it would be going too far.
"You ready to talk?" George asked.
"I've said as much as you need to hear."
"See, now, I disagree with that, obviously."
"I'm not interested in whether you agree or disagree. I won't be playing your little game, George. Feel free to go to hell. Goodbye."
Mr. Reith hung up.
George glanced at the display to make sure Mr. Reith had really disconnected the call. Yep. He had. Hmmm. That wasn't how he'd hoped this conversation would go.
As long as he had Ally, he still had the upper hand.
Right?
If George called him back, that gave Mr. Reith all of the power. So he definitely wasn't going to call him back. At the same time, no way was Mr. Reith sitting there saying, "Oh well, I guess I'll just let those crazy fellows go. Sometimes these things don't work out the way you hoped."
The van had to be traceable. They needed a new mode of transportation, as soon as possible.
George started the engine and turned the van around. He'd steal the first car he could find. Maybe he could figure out a way to get Mr. Dewey to place all of the blame on Mr. Reith. Yeah, Mr. Dewey had let Mr. Reith take Lou against his wishes, but that didn't necessarily mean Mr. Dewey couldn't put a hit on the old bastard. If Mr. Reith took all the heat for this disaster and got a bullet through the skull, maybe George and Lou could return to their original plan of delivering Ally for a quick bite and then taking her back home.
Now that Ally was no longer trying to kill him, George felt terrible for all of the punching and kicking. It couldn't be helped, but still, it wasn't cool.
He glanced back at her. Her legs had changed into human legs again, though the top half of her remained a wolf-girl. Her dress had been torn during the transformation but it thankfully still covered enough that he didn't know what color underwear she was wearing. He'd try to steal
some new clothes for her, just in case. Her shoes were history.
He watched her for another moment, but nothing else seemed to be changing, so he began to drive. He kept the phone in his pocket, not sure if he wanted it to ring or not.
After less than a minute, a truck came into view, driving on the same path, moving toward him.
There was room on the path for two vehicles, if each of them moved to the side.
The truck did not move to the side.
George applied the brakes.
The truck stopped in front of him. There were three men inside. George could already tell that these weren't friendly Minnesota guys out for a drive. Even through their dirty windshield, all three of them had the look of killers.
Or maybe they were just hunters who really liked to watch animals die.
The driver didn't honk the horn to tell George to get the hell out of the way, which wasn't a good sign. People who weren't there to kill him would be annoyed that he was blocking the path.
George popped open his door without swinging it outward. He tried to look calm, like everything in life was simply delightful.
The driver and the man closest to the passenger-side door got out of the truck. George couldn't see any guns, but they were wearing jackets, so they could be carrying anything.
They wouldn't immediately try to kill him. They'd find out if he had Ally first. So he at least had a few seconds before things turned violent.
The two men outside the truck split up, the driver walking over to Lou's window and the passenger walking up to George's. George had still held on to the point zero zero zero three percent chance that these guys had nothing to do with Mr. Reith or Mr. Dewey, but this wiped that out.
"Hello there," said the man outside of George's window. He wore a black knit hat, and had a thick brown mustache and goatee. He smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. His tongue protruded through the gap.
"Hi," said George.
"Looks like you've had some trouble." The man tapped the edge of the shattered windshield with a gloved finger.
"What's up with your buddy here?" asked the other man, reaching in and poking Lou. "Sleeping off a bender?" This man also wore a knit hat, though his was red. He was startlingly handsome. Was he paying the bills with crime while waiting for his modeling career to take off?