I’m Glad You’re Dead (The Preternatural Chronicles Book 1)

by Hunter Blain

  My head shook back and forth in disbelief. I swallowed hard and said to myself, “No. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!”

  After a few moments of staring down at the lifeless body of Tiny Tim, I removed him from the constraints of his blackened wheelchair and clutched him against my chest. I lifted my head and saw Depweg slumped on his knees in front of rows of burning kennels. The sound of crackling flesh and the smell of burned fur laid heavy in the air, competing with the black smoke from the house on who could be the first to choke one of us. Depweg’s chin rested on his chest and his arms lay motionless in front of him, the backs of his open hands resting on the ground. There were red plastic gas cans littered around the grounds.

  Through the crackling of the fires, I could hear the deep sobs emanating from my friend. The only friend that understood me and the constant, unyielding battle between my conscious and predator sides. I had alienated everyone else in my life; Da for losing control and feeding on a grieving mother in front of her child, Valenta for breaking the rules and putting a target on my head, and Father Philseep for both reasons. Now the only person who was in the same boat as I was targeted and attacked for simply being my friend and helping me.

  I looked back down at Tim and said to him, “This is my fault.”

  My jaw locked in anger and I could feel myself starting to shake with unbridled wrath. I jerked my head to the side and sent sheer energy empowered with anger into the ground, exploding a hole big enough to bury the form that was now lifeless because of my actions. I placed my little buddy in the hole and covered him up with dirt, whispering my last good byes to him, promising to punish the person responsible.

  It hit me like a kick in the nuts. Lifting my head with wide eyes and yelling through clinched teeth I screamed, “Locke!” Spittle flew and speckled the ground.

  Depweg, weak as if the will to live had been syphoned from him, turned his head to look at me. His head bobbled and swayed, like he was ready to pass out from the purest of anguish. My words hit him and everything in him tensed. He rose a few inches as his legs tightened at the command from his brain telling him the time for grief was over; it was time for bloodshed. Depweg stood directly up from where he sat and turned his body toward me, eyes blazing; literally. The flames that were consuming his home were reflected in his eyes. I didn’t know what to expect as he started to approach, but whatever he was about to do, I deserved it.

  There was power in his steps as Depweg strode over to me. Shadows danced on his features from the house fire, while crackling flames roared behind from the kennels. I sat there, staring at him, like watching a car crash in slow motion; helpless. This wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t come here. What was about to befall my head, I wouldn’t fight back.

  Depweg stopped in front of me and stood for a moment, fists the size of lunch boxes pulsating with barely contained rage. I waited for what was coming.

  He unclenched a fist and extended his arm to me, fingers spread. He must have seen the look of confusion cross my face and shook his hand, signaling for me to take it. I reached out and grabbed his forearm. Depweg’s monstrous fingers clasped around my own, and he pulled me up. We stood, face to face, grasping each other’s forearms as he spoke. But what came out of his mouth was made by an animal’s vocal chords, deep and rumbling.

  “Eye for an eye, and tooth for a tooth.” As he spoke, his eyes shifted to yellow slits and his teeth elongated into long rows of razor-sharp fangs that faced slightly backwards, all the better for grabbing you with my dear. A vengeful smile creased my own face and I let my own eyes shift to their predatory aspect and my canines elongated into surgical points.

  Chapter 31

  We spent the remainder of the night hashing out ideas as we buried each of Depweg’s canines. I created the holes and he used a shovel and a bucket to keep the charred remains together, so they could be buried in one piece. Blackened bones pierced ashes, reaching out to the stars.

  Though I thought I heard sniffling here and there, Depweg never cried. The time for tears was over.

  After the house fire died out, we searched his cache and found that the hellfire had melted the silver with its anti-celestial heat. With no weapons, aside from the remaining rounds from my Glock, Depweg and I would have to be reliant on our brains. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, so I’ll naturally be leaving most of the decision making up to the military mind of Depweg. My brain is mostly filled with movie trivia. For instance; did you know that Jack Nicholson didn’t take a salary for the 1989 Batman? Instead he opted for a percentage on the back end including merchandise. Up until R.D.J. reprised his role as Iron Man for The Avengers, Jack had made the most money of any actor in history. Neat, right? Locke doesn’t stand a chance against me!

  As we finished the ceremony of respect, I handed the gun and spare magazine over to Depweg. He looked at it and then back at me, smiling.

  “Won’t be needing that,” he gestured with his human hands and wiggled his thumbs. I caught on. He won’t have apposable thumbs once he transforms. Werewolves have supernatural strength that rival’s ogres, and outright beats vampires, but they can’t open a jar of pickles. When choosing their attributes, werewolves put everything they had into strength and let dexterity slide to the wayside. I like to think vampires are a healthy mix. Though I am faster than any werewolf, if I were to be cornered, there would be little I could do to stop a fully transformed wer from mauling me to death and feasting on my assumedly tasty meat.

  I placed the Glock back into my waist band at the small of my back and pocketed the spare mag.

  Depweg grabbed the handle to his back door, turned the knob, and pulled. The entire door came off its frame and crumbled into pieces at his feet. Still holding the knob, Depweg looked at his hand and let the brass piece fall from his opening fingers. Watching this happen gave me a ping of regret and I flinched, knowing that the simple action personified him losing everything he had.

  Depweg stepped through the threshold and looked around at what was once his home. I walked up beside him and placed my hand on his shoulder and said,

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Nothing to worry about, buddy. They were just things. The walls and ceiling were wood, as was the furniture. I made them all and can remake them, with time,” he said.

  He stepped away from my hand and walked to the kitchen with a purpose. He stopped in front of the scorched refrigerator and grabbed one of the handles. As he pulled, nothing happened. He put some force into it and the fridge opened with a wail of protest. The smell of cooked meat, veggies, and melted cheese escaped, along with the odor of melted plastic. Inside, the shelves looked like a Salvador Dali painting. All that was missing was a melted clock on one of the shelves.

  Depweg crouched and grabbed a warped shelf and pulled it off its hinges, letting it hit the ground at his feet. With ease, he ripped the top of the shelf off and reached in to pull out something wrapped in butcher’s paper. It was seventeen inches long and slightly curved, similar to a banana.

  He turned and set it on a small piece of his counter top that still remained and began to respectfully unravel it.

  Wrapped in the paper was the kukri blade sheathed in old, worn leather. The handle was five inches in length and made from a dark wood. It had been well cared for over the years with the handle being treated with oils. He grasped the handle and pulled out the blade, which was a full foot long, and hummed with power.

  “Is that...?” I started

  “The silver blade,” Depweg finished for me. “The same one I got just before we first met while in the middle of WWII. A Nazi werwolf hunter came after me and left me with these,” he said as he lifted his shirt, revealing the road map of thick, zig-zag scars I had seen as fresh gashes so long ago. Even after burning the wounds closed, the silver still left its mark.

  “There was a Nazi werewolf hunter? You never told me that!” I said, mocking a hurt expression. “Seriously though, shit sounds like an 80’s straigh
t to VHS movie. Neat.”

  He chuckled at that, thought for a moment and said, “Felt more like a Christopher Nolan film as it was happening. But that’s a story for another time.”

  “What, like a spin off? You think you’re there in terms of character development yet?” I joked.

  “Oh, so this is a story about you then, is it?” he jabbed right back.

  “Everyone’s the star in their own movie.”

  “Everyone’s the hero in their own story as well. Don’t forget that,” he said.

  That struck home. The actions I had partook in of late had been more than questionable, even down right inexcusable. Just because my intentions were pointed in the right direction, does not make me a good guy.

  Depweg noticed that I was deep in self-reflection and added, “Always time to change the narrative.” With that, he smiled. After a moment, the weight of what he had just gone through pulled his smile down at the corners of his eyes and mouth as if an elephant had been tied to his face and thrown off a cliff. He looked much older in an instant.

  Now it was my time to console my friend.

  “Did you know that in Terminator, um, Arnold’s iconic line “I’ll be back” almost didn’t, ah, happen?” I said shyly.

  Depweg looked up at me. Sadness replaced with confusion.

  “Yeah. Arnold argued with James Cameron that a machine wouldn’t use a contraction like “I’ll.” So, we almost got “I will be back” which I don’t think has the same gravitas and flow.”

  He continued to stare at me in disbelief, though he had cut the strings holding the elephant, letting it plummet to its death, alone.

  “I… did not know that,” he said slowly, still confused.

  I mentally high fived myself for changing his emotion. I am the master manipulator.

  I pulled up the sleeve on my leather duster, revealing a naked wrist and said, “Would you look at that, it’s murder time.”

  After another moment of looking at me as if I were speaking in tongues, Depweg vigorously nodded his head, snapped his fingers and said, “Instead of Miller Time. I get it. I understood that reference.”

  “Ok Captain America. Shall we go seek some revenge?”

  “I’m from Germany,” Depweg stated.

  “Lilith!” I said in exasperation. “I need to take you to a damn movie.”

  “I don’t put out,” he remarked seamlessly.

  After Depweg grabbed a few provisions from what remained of his house, we set off down the dirt road. The night was cool in contrast to the day. The air smelled fresh the further from the graveyard we drove. Wind rustled the leaves, like listening to a stadium full of fans applauding in the distance.

  There was a crack as a branch was broken. Depweg let off the accelerator and we coasted to a slow stop. After glancing at each other to confirm that we had, indeed, both heard that noise, we went to work. He smelled the air while my eyes scanned the darkness, searching for any heat signatures.

  “We are upwind of the tree line. I can’t smell anything,” Depweg whispered.

  Another crack further down the line from the first. My eyes locked onto the area of the noise and I could barely make out a line of blurry red spots. Something was off about them, like they were behind a thick wall or coated in some sort of infrared dampening clothing.

  “Get down!” I half yelled, half whispered at Depweg.

  I leaped out of the jeep and Depweg followed out my side, putting the vehicle between us and the trees. An explosion of suppressed gun fire erupted and slammed into the driver’s side of the jeep. The sound of the impact on the metal frame was like cracks of lightening while the actual report of the guns were muffled whispers in comparison.

  Depweg huddled on the ground while I used the jeep’s giant tires as a blockade. A bullet found its mark and hit Depweg in his exposed calf, splitting the skin on the side. Though it was a glancing shot, it dug deep. Depweg called out in pain and grabbed his leg, his head lifting to the sky in agony. This presented the back of his skull as a prime target, so I leapt from my position and tackled him to the other tire just as a hail of bullets ripped the seat apart where his head had just been.

  “Si-silver,” Depweg stammered. “The fuckers are using silver rounds.” Blood was seeping through his fingers where he held his gaping calf.

  The jeep provided minimal cover and they were going to flank us soon. Looking left and right revealed that there was nowhere to go. We could make it for the trees behind us, but the jeep would stop providing cover if we got up and ran. We had to fight.

  “Depweg,” I said as I grabbed his shoulders, forcing his gaze to shift to me. His eyes held pain and anger, but there was no fear. “They killed your pack,” I said pointing to the tree line. With that line uttered, his breathing slowed and became deeper. The pain around his eyes withered and was replaced with fury. “Time for dinner,” I said with a smile. As I did, my canines elongated, and my eyes shifted to crimson. I willed my fingers to sprout thick, razor sharp blood-claws that covered my nails.

  Depweg took the cue and fell on all fours with the tire still blocking his bulk. He threw off his clothes and let the change take over. He gulped in a deep breath and held it for a few heart beats. His bones started to pop as they began to grow. Sinew and muscles were lengthened and Depweg let out a bone chilling howl that was part human in agony, and part wolf free of his human prison. His legs bent backwards with deafening cracks. Hair sprouted all over his body; human at first, then growing thicker into a wolf’s dense pelt. Depweg’s face expanded outward. His eyes closed tight in pain. The jaws extended outward while teeth grew into saliva covered fangs. When he opened his eyes again, they were pure yellow orbs with black slits. They reminded me of the color of a bright, full moon when it was low on the horizon.

  A giant, 500lb, 8-foot wolf stood on all fours and howled into the night. The sound was like a haunted locomotive carrying 12,000 tons of rage. He looked at me with his yellow eyes, chuffed and nodded once. I took my mark and turned toward the tree line with my hands pointed at the ground before us. I sent spears of blood deep into the ground, underneath and in-between the jeep and the trees. Shifting focus, I spread out the blood-diggers to either side for several meters in a crescent moon shape. The ground rumbled audibly. Pebbles danced on the surface. After I had extended out far enough to be uncomfortable with the amount of energy I was about to use, I stopped and took a huge breath.

  The gun fire had ceased at the howl and now the sound of magazines being ejected and replaced filled the nights air. Bolts were slapped into place and footsteps on foliage sounded.

  I squatted down to the ground, like a powerlifter about to deadlift the world. With a gargantuan amount of focus and will, I sprang up and threw my hands to the sky above us.

  The explosion was immediate and intense. Rocks, clay, dirt, and mud shot through the air straight up, creating a curtain of earth. At the precipice, the debris hung in the air as if frozen in time before gravity could take hold again and return them to their rightful place. As they hung, I leapt on top of the jeep and slammed my hands together with enough force and speed to break the sound barrier. A thunderous shockwave expanded out in a sphere, throwing me backwards several yards. I landed on my ass and tumbled tits over feet until my momentum slowed. The desired effect was achieved however, as chunks of earth were propelled at the tree line in a blitzkrieg of streaking rocks.

  Startled cries pierced the night as several men were torn and shredded. I propped myself on elbows, still recovering from the sonic boom and expenditure of energy, to see Depweg diving into the fray. He targeted the men who were left standing and dazed. It was a magnificent slaughter.

  Claws raked body armor, leaving rivulets of blood, as black clothed men in masks struggled to recover. Salivating jaws tore chunks of gore and flesh from throats as gurgling men collapsed to their knees, holding what used to be their necks.

  Depweg then located the last man standing, his finger squeezing a trigger that clicked emp
ty. His jaws engulfed a helmeted skull and tightened. The man screamed and tried to punch the giant wolf, forgetting about his gun and spare mags entirely in his panic. The helmet started to crack and dent in as the man clawed at the straps under his chin with clumsy fingers that were electrified with adrenaline.

  The man shrieked in panic as the helmet started pushing its way into his skull. Bones cracked, and a high-pitched scream escaped the man’s throat. The front of the armor had been bent over his eyes and only his face below the middle of his nose stuck out. Streams of blood started spilling down his face. His hands abandoned the chin strap and now frantically pushed upwards on the helmet, slipping on the blood that was increasing in volume until there was a scarlet waterfall pouring off his face. The blood mixed with the fabric and turned it into a black sheen.

  After a few more moments, the helmet was three quarters the size it started as. The man’s hands slowly began to sag as the life was leaving his body. Sound didn’t escape his wide mouth anymore, but continued to open and close like a morbid ventriloquist’s dummy. The final crunch came, and the man jerked once, then went limp. Depweg dropped him to the ground where the man’s body twitched at random intervals, as if hit with a malfunctioning stun gun. I had made it up to my feet and over to the tree line where Depweg and I methodically tended to the wounded.

  I could see a man whose legs had been crushed by a boulder the size of a paint bucket. His feet stuck straight up at an awkward angle with the rock crushing his shins and knees into the earth. The assassin struggled uselessly to move the rock. He stopped when he saw Depweg stalking his way to him. The man looked around in fear and spotted his gun a few feet from where he lay pinned to the ground. He reached for it and then screamed in agony at the movement, his cry muffled by his balaclava. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Depweg again and he stretched his arms to the weapon a second time, wailing as he did. His fingertips barely touched the weapon as Depweg walked up behind the man and grabbed his neck in his jaws. A quick bite and jerk of the head and the man fell limp.