Scattered, Smothered and Chunked - Bubba the Monster Hunter Season 1

by John G. Hartness

  "I'm sorry for that, son. I swear I am. Not a day goes by that I don't think about how I treated y'all wrong. You and Skeeter both." He looked at his son. Skeeter gave him a level look back. "I'm sorry. To both of you. I should have been there, and I wasn't. I can't ever fix that. But I'm here now, so let's quit jawing about shit we can't change and go shoot something."

  "I think that's my line, sir." I said. There was a ripple of laughter around me, and the tension eased up a bit. "Now you boys saw what we're up against. I assume you're all loaded with silver-jacketed rounds?" They all nodded. "Well, then I reckon we ride."

  "Do you know where we're going, Bubba?" Billy Wayne asked.

  "Yeah, there ain't but one place to finish this." I went back in my head to the last time I thought I'd finished things with Pop. I saw the water running red, blonde hair pooling around a young girl's dying face, and then the world went a little fuzzy for a minute. I must have got something in my eye. When I looked up, everybody was staring at me.

  "What are y'all looking at me for? Let's go kill a werewolf!" I turned to walk into the woods, and stopped cold. Lying in the red dirt between the house and the barn, right where Pop had left Brittany's shoe for me to find all those years ago, was one of Uncle Father Joe's motorcycle boots. A black, square-toed Harley boot with a chain around the instep, it had a couple of long slashes in the leather where claws had ripped it off the foot. I picked it up and pulled a bandanna out of my back pocket. I used the red rag to wipe a little spot of blood off the toe and set the boot back down on the ground gently.

  We hadn't made it ten feet before the whole procession froze again. I was on point, so when the she-wolf came around the corner of the barn, I held up a hand quickly to keep her from sprouting a lot of new orifices. It was the same wolf I'd seen in a cave all those years ago, the one that told me about the "tricksy old one" that killed her mate. That same tricksy old one that we were hunting today.

  "What do you want?" I said. She shimmered into her half-human state and shook her head, like it was hard to get word out of her misshapen jaw.

  "Alpha says you stop. Alpha says you come alone or all pups and mates die."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked. "Whose mates?"

  "Alpha says tell you to call home. All of you." She pointed at the men around me. They all looked confused, but pulled out cell phones and started dialing. All of them except Skeeter and Agent Amy, who kept their weapons trained on the she-wolf.

  Billy Wayne was the first to get through, and he went whiter than a Klansman's dry cleaning when he heard what was on the other end of the line. He listened for a few seconds, then pushed a button on his phone and slid it into his pocket. He looked at me, his eyes big and watery. "They got Christine at my mama's place. They told her as long as I come home within the next twenty minutes everything will be fine. If I'm so much as a minute late . . ." He couldn't finish.

  "Go." I said, gesturing back toward his car. "All of you. Get out of here. I appreciate the effort, but this was my fight all along. My family started it, and we gotta end it."

  Skeeter's father took his arm to pull him toward his truck, but Skeeter shook loose. "You heard Bubba. This is family business. And he's my brother."

  "But they got your Uncle Maynard. We gotta go." His daddy pleaded.

  "Uncle Maynard hates my guts. He calls me a catamite and tells me how unnatural I am every chance he gets. Best thing that could happen to that sonofabitch is to give some werewolf a bellyache. Now I got work to do. But I appreciate you coming. And I'll tell Joe." Skeeter looked at his daddy for a long time, then they hugged again, and his father went off down the hill toward his truck.

  I looked at Skeeter and Agent Amy. "I don't think this counts as alone, kids. Y'all need to stay here."

  "And you need to kiss my ass." Skeeter slung the shotgun over his shoulder and started towards the wolf-woman. "Pop ain't alone up there, is he?"

  "No." She replied.

  "Then Bubba ain't going alone neither. Now you want to lead, follow, or get out of the way?" I stood with my mouth hanging open as my scrawny little gay best friend stared down a seven-foot werewolf until she shifted back to all fours and slunk around behind Agent Amy at the rear of our procession.

  I started back down the trail toward the creek, but stopped at Skeeter's side. "That was impressive."

  "That wasn't shit. Try cutting in the checkout line at Walmart on the day after Thanksgiving. That takes balls. Now let's go make some fur fly." He grinned up at me, and I clapped him on the shoulder as we headed deeper into the woods.

  We walked for another twenty minutes before the trees opened up and we came to the edge of the wide, shallow creek where I'd watched Brittany bleed to death all those years ago. I stepped into the cold water, feeling it splash over the tops of my boots and soak my socks. Pop was standing on a sandbar about fifty yards upstream of us, in human form.

  My breath caught in my chest a little bit. Better than ten years had passed since the last time I saw my father's face, and the last time we were face to face, one of us was wearing his fur coat. He hadn't aged a day since the last time I saw him sitting on our front porch drinking a beer and watching the sunset. His hair was longer, and he was leaner, like he'd been living clean and working hard, but I figured shapeshifting burned a lot of calories. Uncle Father Joe was curled up at his feet, blood trickling from a busted lip and a bloody nose, but he didn't look to be hurt too bad.

  "You look good, Pop." I pitched my voice to carry over the rushing water and the distance.

  "Wish I could say the same for you, boy. You're fat. And you got some grey running in that beard." He gave me a half-grin, and I could see the mocking wolf behind his eyes.

  "It's been a few years. That changes a man. Not that you'd remember what it's like to be a man, I reckon."

  His eyes went flat and cold. "I told you to come alone. You don't look too alone."

  "Well, you always said it was like me and Skeeter was joined at the hip, so I figured he didn't count?"

  "And the bitch?"

  I felt Agent Amy stiffen behind me and forced a grin. "Don't mind him, Amy. He don't mean no offense, it's just the way dogs talk. I'm surprised he can stand on two legs by now. She's with the government, Pop. She's here to help."

  He laughed at the crappy old joke, then looked hard at Amy. "She ain't right, boy. You keep an eyeball on that one. If I don't kill you both in the next ten minutes, that is."

  "Screw this." I muttered under my breath. "Skeeter, you sure that shit you found on the internet is reliable?"

  "I found it on the internet, Bubba. So no, I don't think it's any more reliable than anything else on the web."

  "You mean Bill Gates ain't gonna send me a million dollars for forwarding that chain letter?" I made my eyes go wide in fake surprise.

  Skeeter laughed. "No, he ain't. And that Nigerian millionaire doesn't really need your help to deposit money."

  "Well, now that we got all that settled, let's give this bullshit a try." I stepped out into the middle of the creek, tossing my guns back into the woods as I went. I stood in ankle-deep water with nothing but Grandpappy's sword and Jason's old KA-BAR knife, and shouted at my father.

  "I challenge you, Pop! I challenge you to single combat, under the code of the wolf." My voice came back at me, echoing off the trees behind Pop.

  He gaped at me for a long minute, then broke into a grin. "You want to fight me for alpha?"

  "I challenge your superiority. You are not fit to lead this pack. You are old, and feeble, and I will kick your ass and take your pack from you!" I yelled.

  "I accept your challenge for my position within the pack. For weapons, I choose bare hands." I counted on that. When he was still human, neither me nor my brother Jason could ever take Pop in hand-to-hand. He had a scrappy mixed style of street fighting, martial arts and professional wrestling moves that used to put both of us on our asses in the dirt on a regular basis. But I'd been training for ten years since then, and
he'd been using supernatural strength and speed to get by, not to mention wicked claws and teeth.

  I tossed Jason's knife over with my guns and jammed Grandpappy's sword down into the sandy bottom of the creek. "You can have your daddy's sword if you can take me. But no interference. If your pups want to play, Skeeter and Agent Amy will shoot them in the head."

  "Fair enough. They won't mess with an alpha brawl, they know better. Any last words?"

  "Yeah. Come get some, asshole." I ran at him at pretty close to full speed. The water slowed me down a little, but not much. He charged me, letting out a throaty bellow as he splashed into the water. We came together in a huge collision, slamming into each other like really pissed off Mack trucks. He went low trying to take me down and get the advantage, but I hammered both fists into the back of his neck in an axe-handle blow that dropped him to one knee. I had to hop backwards to avoid an uppercut at my balls, and that gave Pop time to get to his feet.

  He flicked out a side kick at my formerly bad knee, but I just lifted my foot to catch the kick on my calf instead. I launched a couple of quick left jabs at his face, then came in at him with a right hook at his jaw. But his jaw wasn't there, and I almost twisted myself around swinging on empty air. He was faster than ten years ago, if that was even possible. He came in with a couple of sharp punches to my floating ribs, and stars flashed across my vision as I heard bones crack.

  A back elbow connected with his forehead, and Pop took a step back, shaking his head to clear his vision. I pressed what little advantage I had, throwing a big looping right hand to crush his nose. I felt the cartilage pop under my fist, and blood fountained down his face. He growled and shook his head to clear his vision, staggering further back. I took advantage of the space he gave me to launch a huge kick at his head, but he was playing possum. He grabbed my ankle and jerked me sideways off my feet. I splashed full length into the creek, scrambling to roll over before he could pounce on me and bury my face in the water. I got myself rolled over just in time to see the old man land on my chest with both feet. All the air rushed out of me and I heard more ribs cracked. It felt like somebody was jabbing icepicks into my midsection, and I thrashed around until Pop jumped off. I managed to roll over onto my hands and knees, but this presented him with too good a target.

  Pop reared back and punted me in the gut so hard all three hundred forty-five pounds of me lifted into the air. I puked into the creek, then landed a couple feet away with a tremendous splash.

  "Bubba!" I heard Agent Amy scream my name, then let out a yelp. I looked over to where I'd left her and Skeeter and saw four wolves surrounding them. They weren't attacking, or even really threatening, but it was pretty damn clear that they wouldn't be coming to my rescue. I heard a splash beside me and rolled out of the way just as Pop landed what would have been a killing stomp where my spine had been a half-second earlier. I kept rolling from side to side, trying to keep from getting anything else broken, then picked up a handful of rocks and flung them in Pop's face.

  He stopped trying to stomp my face in just long enough to wipe the mud from his eyes, which gave me enough time to clamber to my feet. We squared off again, him wiping mud and blood from his face, me trying to breath with a chest full of broken ribs and freezing water soaking every inch of me. We circled warily for a long few seconds, then I charged. In the old days, when we were training, this was my biggest fault - impatience. I'd get squirrelly and try for a takedown or punch that wasn't there, and Pop would exploit it and kick my ass.

  Good thing for me that was a decade ago. I charged, but I wasn't just trying to bull-rush him. I waited until he spun out of the way, then froze my charge, spun in the opposite direction, and stood up straight facing him head on from two feet away. He was expecting me to rush on past like I used to, so his eyes went wide when I was in my combat stance and ready to fight the second he came into range. His eyes went wide as my foot came up, and slammed shut as the tip of my boot connected with his balls. I kicked him in the nuts like I was kicking the Super Bowl-winning field goal, and he dropped to his knees, both hands on his junk. I stepped around behind and wrapped an arm around his throat, careful to keep my stance wide and my eyes out of reach of his arms.

  I tightened my grip and started to choke, and he thrashed against my grip as he realized the trouble he was in. I squeezed tighter, and he started to shift into his wolf form. He never got there. As he shifted into the huge wolf-man form I'd fought and thought I'd killed all those years ago, I pulled backward with one sharp move, throwing all my weight against his vertebrae. I heard a sharp crack come from his neck, and he went limp. I held on for anther minute or more, not slackening my grip at all, just standing there, holding my dead father's body in a chokehold.

  After I was sure he was dead, I let him slump to the ground. He dropped down to his knees, the fell slowly sideways into the creek, making a little splash as he landed. He looked up at me with vacant eyes, one under the water, one up in the air. I stared down at his corpse, then let out a long, shaky breath.

  "Goodbye, Pop. I don't know what happened to make you this way, but I wish I could have saved you from it." I closed my eyes for a second, then took a deep breath as I heard the splash of footsteps behind me.

  I turned to tell Agent Amy and Skeeter that it was finished, but it wasn't either of them behind me. I froze, my mouth open but not making a sound as the last person I expected to see stood in front of me. I didn't make a single move to defend myself as my Grandpappy's sword slid into my chest and out the back of my ribcage. I never said a word, just looked up at the man who'd stabbed me with eyes full of questions.

  "What's wrong, Bubba? You look like you've seen a ghost." My brother Jason said as he pulled the sword out of my chest and wiped it on his shirttail.

  I dropped onto my knees, then slowly toppled over into the water. The last thing I saw was Jason standing over me holding the sword he'd just stabbed me with. He leaned down and said something as my vision narrowed. I couldn't understand him, and shook my head. He smiled and said "Oh, I'm sorry. Are you having trouble hearing me over the sound of you dying? Too bad, big brother. No answers for you. No into the light monologues. Say hi to Pop for me. Tell him he's a good doggie."

  My vision started to tunnel in then, going black at the edges then quickly fading to a uniform grey. The last sound I heard was Skeeter screaming my name, and what might have been a helicopter.

  Movie Knight

  A Black Knight Short Story

  By John G. Hartness

  "Don't answer that." Sabrina warned as I reached for my phone. She was on the couch beside me with the TV remote in her hand, popcorn in her lap, and a beer on the table beside her. I had a straw in a nicely chilled bottle of B-Negative and a beer chaser. And a ringing phone.

  "I'd listen to her, bro." My partner, Greg Knightwood warned from his armchair. He had his own beer and blood combo pack set up, and his bare feet were crossed on a tattered ottoman that had survived years of moving since we'd graduated college. I shuddered every time I saw anybody's bare skin touch that thing, even though Greg was long past catching any diseases. We were all three settled in for a long overdue movie marathon, and after the events of the past few weeks, we deserved it. A trip to FairyLand and back, a cage mage against trolls and evil fairies, and playing matchmaker for a dragon definitely had taken its toll on the three of us. So we were all looking forward to a nice night of mindless entertainment, and then my phone rang. I could see why they were shooting me daggers just for thinking of answering the call, but I've never been the brains of the operation.

  I ignored them both and picked up the phone. Bobby Reed's face looked up at me from the screen, frozen in the goofy look he was sporting when I took the picture. I swiped my finger across the screen to answer and said "Sharky's Pool Hall. CueBall speaking. You rack 'em, we smack 'em."

  "Jimmy?" Bobby's voice sounded weird, thready and high.

  "Yeah, Bobby, what's up? We're stocked pretty well right now, but if you
had anything exotic come in I can come see you tomorrow." Bobby was a coroner's assistant for Mecklenburg County, and was also one of my best connections for fresh blood. Having Bobby on speed dial kept the people of Charlotte from a lot of odd cases of iron deficiency and listlessness that vampire victims are known to experience.

  "I think I need you down here. I need your help, Jimmy." Bobby sounded scared. And not "my boss found out I've been selling blood to vampires on the side and now I'm fired" scared. More like "there's a tiger in the morgue and it wants to eat my liver" scared.

  "What's up, man? Did that parakeet's owners finally find you?" I teased. Bobby's promising career as a pet undertaker had been cut short following an embarrassing event at a party involving a parakeet, a mountain goat and five cans of whipped cream.

  "That ain't funny, man. Just get down here. There's something bad going on, and I don't think the normal cops can help. I gotta go, I gotta hide. When you get here, I'll be in the top right drawer. I don't get reception in there, but knock before you open the door. I'm taking my shotgun in with me." Bobby hung up and I stared at the phone trying to process his last words.

  "What's up?" Sabrina said from the couch. She looked so relaxed, sitting there waiting to watch a science fiction movie with her "favorite dead dork detectives." She had her shoes off and sock feet propped up on the coffee table. Sabrina was casual today, which meant jeans and a plain red t-shirt, with a dress shirt unbutton over the tee to cover her sidearm. It was a pretty big departure from the tailored look she usually sported as a detective in the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department, but she wore it well. Damn well, as a matter of fact, and I'd been looking very forward to sitting beside her on the couch and idly playing with her long curly brown hair for a couple of hours.

  "Gear up," I said in my best impression of Mark Harmon from NCIS, which wasn't very good. "Bobby's down in the morgue and scared out of his mind about something."