Pop's voice came from the edge of the woods. "Bubba? Bubba are you in there? I need your help, son. Jason's hurt bad and I can't carry him anymore, and we can't get through all these damn wolves to get to you. Come out here and help us, son." I was halfway to the door before Grandpappy got hold of my arm.
"What the hell are you thinking, boy?"
"I'm thinkin' that's Pop out there and he needs my help. Now get off my arm." I tried to shake the old man off, but he had a grip of iron.
"The hell you say. That ain't no more your daddy than it is your mama. Even if it used to be your daddy, it's a monster now."
"Monster is such a harsh word, old man. I think I prefer beast." The voice came from right outside the front door this time, but I'd never heard anything step onto the creaky porch.
Grandpappy shoved himself between me and the door just as Pop opened it. My worst nightmare walked in wearing my father's skin. He still wasn't tall, not even lycanthropy could change that, but his torso was covered in silver fur and corded muscle. There must not have been an ounce of fat anywhere on him, and he had arms as big around as my thighs. He was half-changed, standing on two legs, but sporting claws and fangs.
"Join us. Together we can take our rightful place at the top of the food chain," He said, looking from Grandpappy to me and back again.
"No thanks," Grandpappy said. "I'm partial to my silver jewelry. Sorry this happened to you, son."
"I'm not. I'm stronger than I've ever been. I'll live forever, and I can take anything I want. Nothing can stand in my way, old man. Especially not you." He took a swipe at Grandpappy, and the old man brought his pistol up to point at his only son's nose.
"How about me, Pop? Can I stand in your way?" I stepped around Grandpappy and raised the sword.
"You barely know how to use that thing, child. I'll turn you when I'm done with the old man. Eventually you'll see it's for the best."
I opened my mouth to argue, but Grandpappy put a bullet in Pop's leg that ended the conversation. The .44 boomed like a cannon in the small room, and Pop fell to the rotting wood floor, howling in pain. I reached out to him on instinct, but his snapping jaws changed my mind about offering any comfort or healing. He shifted all the way to wolf and bolted for the woods.
I turned on Grandpappy, who was holding the pistol and watching Pop run out the door. "How the hell could you do that? That was my father you son of a bitch!"
Grandpappy looked up at me with eyes that had seen more than he wanted to live through. "I know, Robert. He was my son." Then he turned to face the broken front door and said "Get behind me. There's a bunch of them and I've only got five bullets left."
Crap. I'd forgotten about the other wolves. But they hadn't forgotten us. Grandpappy got his pistol settled in his right hand and a table leg in his left, while I set up in the middle of the room so I'd have enough room to swing the sword. They charged us from all directions at once, but our impromptu fortifications held through the first assault. I head muffled thumps against the back door and some of the blocked-up windows, but nothing came through. That left just the door and the front window, and that's where they came pouring in. The first one inside got its brains relocated to the near wall courtesy of Grandpappy, and that gave the next one a second's pause. But just a second, then it came charging through, driven wild by the sight of me waggling my sword at it. It went the way of its point man, as did the next three to try the door, but then Grandpappy's pistol was empty. He dropped it and started laying about with the table leg then, and I wanted to help him but had my own hands full with the four that had made it through the window.
I wasn't much of a shot with a pistol, and the Desert Eagle had a lot more recoil than I expected, so my first two shots missed completely. I took out three wolves before any got close, then killed one more before the gun clicked empty. A pair of wolves slid through the window together, their grey bodies streaks of bloodthirsty quicksilver as they came for me. I decapitated the first one with no trouble, but soon there were three of them around me and life got a little more difficult. The one behind me, and no matter how I turned, there was always one behind me, kept nipping at the back of my legs, trying to hamstring me. The other two took turns trying to lunge and get me to overextend so the one behind me could get at me. After less than a minute of fending off three wolves, I felt the sweat start to drip into my eyes and fear creep up my spine.
"Get to a wall!" Grandpappy yelled, and clarity washed over me. Idiot. Get your back on something solid and they can't get behind you. So I backed up against the mattress-covered window and stomped the shit out of the wolf behind me in the process. It limped off whining and I chopped the nose off one of its friends when it got too close. That made half a dozen we'd taken out of the fight, but the odds were still way out of our favor. Grandpappy was smashing skulls with his table leg, but he was starting to tire, and a table leg didn't kill any of the wolves, just made life damned inconvenient until they could heal.
I managed to slice my way through another three of the critters, taking the pelt count close to a dozen before I heard Grandpappy yell. I looked over, and one of the wolves I thought I'd killed had just been playing possum. Now it had Grandpappy's leg in its mouth and was worrying it like a living chew toy. He went down, and another wolf pounced on his chest, going for his throat.
My vision went red, and I slashed down through the skull of the wolf in front of me. I kicked in the head of another one, then swung the sword around and decapitated a third on my way to the old man's side. I skewered the wolf on top of him, and flung it into the wall across the cabin. The one on his hamstring got my boot in the side of its head, and it collapsed to the floor. I didn't bother looking to see if it was dead or unconscious, I just lashed out with the sword and chopped the damned thing's head off. Grandpappy was looking bad. The wolves had done a hell of a job on his leg, chewing most of the calf muscle right off, but that was nothing compared to the damage to his chest and stomach. There were long gashes from his chin all the way down to his belt, and I could see rib through a few of them, and didn't want to think about what I was seeing poking through the lower wounds. I knelt by his side and said "Hang on there, old man. I'm gonna get you out of here."
One more wolf rushed me, and I reversed grip on the sword and let the wolf impale itself on the blade. I pulled the sword free with a sucking sound, wiped the blood and the guts off its length on my jeans, and slid it back into the scabbard across my back. I stood up, picking Grandpappy up in my arms. His head lolled and blood dripped off him like rainwater.
I looked around at the eight or ten wolves still standing. "You've got two choices. You can let me out of here with this old man without a fight, and you live. Or you can come at me, and I will kill every goddamn one of you and paint this cabin with your guts. And then I'm gonna walk out of here with him. But either way, we're leaving. Your call whether you live to see it happen or not." I turned to the door and the wolves in my way parted like the Red Sea. I made it to the woods and ran hell-bent for leather all the way back to the truck. When I got there, I shoved Grandpappy into the passenger seat and threw gravel in a six-foot rooster plume behind me as I pulled back onto the highway and hauled ass back to civilization before the old man bled out in my truck.
Chapter 7
Civilization in this case was more like the emergency room at Shoals Hospital in Muscle Shoals, Alabama. I got bumped right to the front of the line as soon as I walked in, on account of being the giant carrying the old man with more blood on him than left in him. It might have had something to do with the sword across my back, too. The surgeons jumped right on Grandpappy, but the look on their faces was pretty damn universal and it was the same look the coaches gave me when they saw the MRI on my knee - it wasn't good.
I paced the waiting room for a little while until a helpful nurse offered me some scrubs and the use of the staff shower. I cleaned up gratefully, then laughed a little as I realized they probably didn't give a shit about my comfort, just wan
ted to get the scary blood-soaked man out of sight for a few minutes. I stashed the sword in the truck after my shower and was on my way back into the waiting room when a pair of cops stopped me. The young one had his hand on his gun and looked like he might have been a couple of years older than me. He also looked scared out of his gourd. His partner was the one with all the sense, obviously. He was nowhere near to touching his gun, and he had the salt-and-pepper brush cut of a long-time cop. He also had a patient grin that he trotted out when they walked up, probably intended to keep me from breaking his partner over one knee.
"Hold it right there, sir." The young cop said, holding his palm out to me. I walked right up to him, looming over him a little. It was petty, and I knew it, but I was young and I'd had a pretty shitty night.
"I'm holding it. Now what?" I asked.
"We need to ask you a few questions."
I turned and walked back to the rear of my truck. "Where are you going, sir?" Junior asked.
"Where I come from if we're gonna talk to somebody, we get comfortable first. I can't get comfortable in that damn hospital, so I might as well sit here on the tailgate. You wanna sit?" I dropped the tailgate and sat, patting the tailgate next to me.
Junior shook his head. He didn't know what to make of me. I get that a lot. His partner came over and sat next to me. "You got any beer in that truck?"
"No, sir. That would be too great a temptation to drink and drive, and you know that's illegal."
The old cop laughed out loud, a harsh donkey bray that came from deep inside. "I like you, boy. Here you are covered in blood, most of it not yours, carrying a half-dead old man into the emergency room, and you don't even bat an eye when the cops want to ask you a few questions."
"I figure I'll worry when you pull your gun. 'Til then, I reckon we're all right." I reached in the cooler in the back of the truck and grabbed a Bud. I popped the top and passed one to the cop. He opened his and knocked back half the beer in one long gulp.
"I thought you said you didn't have any beer." The young cop said, pushing his chest out in an effort at authority. It didn't work. He just came off belligerent.
"I lie to cops. It's a rule I got." I killed my beer and grabbed another one. I held it out to Junior, who shook his head. I shrugged and opened it myself. "Now what can I do for you gentlemen tonight?"
"Let's start by telling us who the old man is." Junior said, getting right up in my face. I reached out with my left hand and engulfed his right, which was still resting on the butt of his Glock.
"You got too close. Now you don't have a weapon. You should stay out of arm's reach of a bigger fella. Just sayin'. The old man's my Grandpappy. He fell down and got hurt."
"What did he fall on, a buzzsaw?" The old cop asked.
"That sounds good to me." I let Junior go and he staggered back. He started to clear leather and I held up a finger. "Don't do that unless you plan to kill me. You draw that gun and this goes from a conversation into a situation. And I don't think any of us want a situation, do we?"
"Albert, chill the fuck out." The old cop said. "Don't make me send your ass home." He looked over at me. "Forgive my partner. He's a little overzealous. Now, what happened to your grandfather?"
"We were attacked by a pack of werewolves up in the woods west of town. We killed most of them, but one got through and bit the shit out of Grandpappy. I had to stop killing dogs to get him here before he bled out." I finished the rest of my beer and threw the empty into the bed of the truck. Then I folded my hands in my lap so the cops wouldn't see them shaking. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the whole situation was starting to settle in one me. My brother was dead, his blood used in some kind of black magic ritual. My daddy was a werewolf Alpha now, and more evil than a half-dozen politicians in October. And my grandpappy was lying in a hospital bed about to bleed to death. I was starting to freak the fuck out.
Junior opened his mouth, and I could see the disbelief on his face, but the older cop just nodded. "That'd be Grey and his pack. They're a bunch of mean bastards. I reckon you're with that couple of rednecks went up there a couple days ago?"
"My Pop and brother." I agreed.
"What happened to them?"
"We found a cabin. Looked like they killed Jason, my brother. And they turned Pop. He must have fought this Grey you're talking about, because he led the pack after Grandpappy and me. Seemed like he was the Alpha."
"That's a bad night, son. I'm sorry to hear all that. What are you planning on doing?"
"Right now I'm gonna get my Grandpappy stable, then go home and lick our wounds."
"You know he's probably infected, right?"
"Yeah. We'll deal with that in a month when he gets furry."
"If that's how you want to handle it, that's your call."
Junior finally lost it. He'd been standing off to one side getting redder and redder in the face while me and his partner talked. I reckon he hit his melting point, because he drew his gun, pointed it at me, and said "What the holy hell is wrong with you, Rich? You keep talking to this nutbar like all the shit he's spewing could actually happen. Well it can't, and you know it! Now I'm going to arrest this bastard for murder, and you're going to help me. So cuff him!" His hands were shaking more than mine were, and I'd fought a shitload of werewolves. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he'd never pulled his gun outside the range before, and he was terrified.
I put both hands in the air slowly. Rich gave me an apologetic look and walked over to me. "I'll talk to him." He whispered as he cuffed my left hand to one of the cargo ties in the bed of my truck. I nodded and handed him Jase's pistol. He walked over to his partner, pushed the kid's gun down gently, and put his arm around the rookie's shoulder. I heard him whisper something about "stuff you don't know" and "shouldn't learn this at your age" but I quit listening as soon as they were out of earshot.
I was screwed. I was handcuffed to the bed of my own truck while my grandfather lay bleeding to death in a hospital bed. And even if he didn't die tonight, there was a good chance I'd have to kill him in a month when he turned all furry and tried to eat my kidneys. My brother was dead, and my father had turned into a psychotic werewolf. And my knee was starting to hurt. I had all of one person I could think to call. So I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed a number from memory.
Chapter 8
"Bubba do you have any idea what time it is?" Skeeter's voice came through loud and clear.
"No. It's still dark. That's about all I got."
"It is two-thirty in the goddamn morning, Bubba. Now what in the world do you think I am doing at two-thirty in the goddamn morning?"
"Looking at porn and eating Cheet-ohs if it's anything like every other night. And you know the doctor said that makes your pecker turn orange so you had to quit."
"I switched to Frito's, so kiss my ass. Now what do you want?" Skeeter and I became best friends in middle school. He was smarter than any three people I'd ever met, blacker than the ace of spades, and queerer than RuPaul. None of those things did him any favors in north Georgia in the 90s. But I thought he was funny, and he helped me pass math, so I kept him alive all through middle and high school. He was closer to me than my own brother, even if he was a little jealous that Jase got to go kill monsters with me. But Skeeter was the skinniest human being I'd ever met in real life, and about as coordinated as a giraffe trying to dance Swan Lake, so I never would let him come along.
He was my roommate at UGA 'til I lost my scholarship, and he stayed on majoring in computer something-or-other. He hacked the college computer system to give him a private room for free, and then hacked it again to give him unlimited meal credits, so I figured what I needed him to do wouldn't be much of a challenge.
"I need a favor, Skeeter."
"I figured that, dipshit, or you wouldn't be calling me in the middle of the damn night. Now what's her name?"
"Huh?"
"Whoever the little floozy you done knocked up. I'll make the appointment, but
you gotta drive her to the doc yourself."
"Jesus Christ, Skeeter, I ain't got nobody pregnant! And if I do, you can be damn sure I can take care of that myself. I need you to do your computer mojo."
Skeeter sounded disappointed. "Oh. Okay, what do I need to hack?"
"The Muscle Shoals Police Department dispatcher."
Suddenly he sounded a lot less disappointed. "Okay, what am I doing?"
"Telling all units to report to a hostage situation as far away from the Shoals Hospital as you can make it and still be in the jurisdiction."
"I can do that. But why?"
"Long story."
"I got nothing but time, Bubba. As you pointed out, it's not like I've got the most exciting social calendar." Skeeter was obviously not going to budge until I gave him the dirt he wanted.
"Fine. I'm handcuffed to my truck in the hospital parking lot because a cop thinks I killed somebody."
"Did you?"
"Kinda. But they were werewolves, so I don't count 'em as people. But I need to get loose from here and find out about Grandpappy."
"What's up with Grandpappy?" Skeeter and I spent so much time together we just talked about each other's families like our own. It was easier. Besides, Grandpappy liked Skeeter. He didn't understand about half the words that came out of his mouth when he talked about tech, but Skeeter was always respectful to the old man, and he appreciated that.
"The werewolves got ahold of him. Bad. Ripped him up a fair bit. They're trying to get him stable." I filled Skeeter in on the whole night, including Jason getting dead and Pop getting turned.
He was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was hard, businesslike, no BS. "I'm in. There's about to be an all-call for the po-po. Get ready to do your thing."
Scattered, Smothered and Chunked - Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 1 Page 27