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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack The first year is available as a compilation on Amazon Kindle: https://a.co/d/gBLLL7E Audio and print versions will be available in the future. My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| From the rotten stench, ambling shuffle, and vague look of confused happiness on their faces, I could tell it was that time of year again. Time for the freshly dead to climb up out of their graves to shuffle towards a graveyard or two, do whatever it is they're set to do this year, and move on. It was also time for me to help. I'll never get used to the smell. The rot of death is something you shouldn't get used to. Well, unless you're a necrophiliac, I guess. But then that stench may do a whole different thing for you. And where was I going with this? Flowers, yes. Pretty flowers. ANYWAY.... This year was ending up like most years for me. I'd already given several corpses trips to a chosen graveyard, this one outside a forgotten town nearby our own. Crash responded with his usual tact and understanding nature for my plight: I was given a custom "Zombie Taxicab" hat, complete with custom badge in the center, and a custom license plate surround that said "Hauling Dead". I swear, Etsy is officially off my Christmas card list. This year, I wasn't going alone. Zack had volunteered and practically jumped into my vehicle before I had a chance to say no. We'd taken two trips and he stuck it out, squirming in his seat at their site and smell, but stuck around anyway. I knew what he wanted. He had a look that was easy to identify. It was why he accompanied me to the gun range a few times. It was why he kept asking questions about my time in service. More about how we did certain things, performed certain moves. Zack wanted vengeance. After what happened to him, I don't blame him. Those guys had beaten him within an inch of his life. His left arm was still technically healing, and the wrap wouldn't come off of it for another two weeks. All for the crime of having a friend. That's what it boiled down to. He dared to have a friend that they didn't like so Zack got caught in the crossfire. Anyone could understand where Zack was coming from. It's not like Milton had many friends to begin with, his family all but disowned him, which is why he ended up in a paupers grave in our county instead of going home for burial. And, it's not like the corpse will feel much of anything. But, there was a wrinkle in his plans. It was now my official job to help these undead shufflers, and that meant the zombies had to be protected. They had to go from grave to graveyard safely. From what I'm told they generally find their own way back pretty easily. It's the way to whatever graveyard they're drawn to that confuses them all. So, no matter how much I sympathized with Zack on the issue. Which made it difficult on our second night out. He'd of course begged me to go out. Knowing who he was looking for, and also knowing why, I agreed. It's easier to misdirect someone when they're next to you, after all, and Zack was going to stay by my side the entire night, whether he wanted to or not. The night began easy. He played a song or two on the radio and we both sang along. It felt almost like an episode of carpool karaoke, only without that annoying host, the staged questions and incidents. That all stopped when we picked up our first "hitchhiker". This freshly dead corpse slid into the back as my car pulled up, almost as if it knew why it was there. Zack flinched a bit when he saw it, pulling a snicker from me that I couldn't suppress. "Shut up," he grumbled, staring out the window. "I...didn't say anything," I said, fighting back my smile. The zombie, a maggot feast of an elderly lady tried to give Zack a comforting touch on his shoulder. He cried out and nearly jumped out of his seat. I'd never thought I'd ever see a zombie nonplussed. "How did you get this job," he asked. "I think I'm the only one that'll do it. Or I'm the only human in the office, or I'm the new guy, one or those reasons." I shrugged as I dropped the corpse off at the graveyard. I looked over the tombstones. They were peaceful where they sat mostly forgotten. The light of the small town behind them barely touched their centuries old stones, with names and dates mostly washed away by weather and time. "You think he's here?" Zack was staring at the stones, looking across to the couple of zombies that was out there. "Milton's dead. He's not," I said. Zack looked at me. "I don't give a shit." Then he looked back out at the zombies milling around. "What he did..." I looked over at Zack. "You'll never get an apology. He'll never be able to. He's wherever guys like him go after we die. Hell, hades, oblivion, I don't know. But, I know he won't be out there." "Well, whatever," Zack grumbled. "Just take me home then." I put on my zombie cabby hat, and shrugged. "Okay, you're the boss." Then, I started for home. In the rear view mirror, I saw the shape of what could have only been Milton, carrying a head that looked as if it had been gnawed on. It gave a wave to the car, and kept shuffling on. Thankfully, Zack didn't see it. What should I even do, here? It's bad enough holding a grudge against someone who is alive. But what about someone who wasn't even a someone anymore? Holding a grudge against the corporal form of that person after the soul that makes them who they are has long since vacated the body? I wasn't even certain. All I knew was that, under no circumstances could I let Zack and Milton's corpse get together. Whatever happens, this will be one long month. Thanksgiving can't get here fast enough. |
| There was no way that I was going to get away with my shenanigans from the previous adventure. So, when Crash said his boss wanted to see me, I was ready. As he was rousing himself for a full day at the office after a full night in the woods, I had time to shower, get dressed and brew coffee. My attire consisted of a simple set of slacks, a cotton buttoned up shirt and a tie. It was the same clothing I'd bought for that disastrous job that I had for less than two weeks. I noticed this over the second cup of coffee as Crash was filling a thermos with what was left of the pot. In a way, I'd expected things to turn out in a similar manner. I'd had fun as a temporary deputy for Crash's little department, but I suppose all good things must come crashing down sooner or later. Crash for his part seemed chipper. He teased me a bit here and there about getting mauled by the bear. I smiled and teased him back, but I took it for exactly what it was: an ass chewing. I had a good idea why I was going to get my ass chewed. After all, it hadn't even been a week since I'd blown up two cars, started a house fire, and killed several well known and least liked criminals as my status as a temporary deputy. In most other fields of law enforcement, I'd have been arrested for results like that. Some places on Earth I'd have been executed. Maybe I'd have been promoted in Russia for that, but who really knows? There's an artform to getting a proper ass chewing, one that you only learn threw time honored experience. Since my ass still had metaphorical teeth marks from some of my shenanigans in the army, and I still say I didn't know a HMMWV would get that much air time at only 45 miles an hour, I have a lot of experience. To survive a good chewing, you got to keep in mind your goal, and to not take everything personal or literal. My goal was to preserve the pack, protect everyone from the threat that the late Milton presented. Something, I felt I'd accomplished.Crash had a scar on his shoulder, but he was doing okay. Zack, Sean, and Kris had a few mental scars and more than a couple bruises, but otherwise, they were recovering nicely. Not only that, I'd killed a member of society who was threatening to murder Crash, a member of their own department, and was using a gang like a paramilitary outfit. Milton had eyes on poisoning half our state with his meth. If you asked me, I think I did a good job. But, instead of getting thanked for that, I was looking forward to a screaming/growling session. And Crash, I think he was enjoying watching someone else get their butt chewed instead of him for a change. "Actually, there'll be more growling than screaming if you've done it right," Crash said, his grin growing wider on his face. I must had given him a look, cause he started snickering after. The top was down and we were enjoying the last warmth of the year before it starts to get colder around here. It was doing nothing for my well combed hair, but I think that was the point. I went into the office, trying to smooth out my hair as best as I could, and stood in front of the desk of Crash's boss. I had saved everyone. I had stopped a threat. In my eyes, I did the right thing. I kept that firmly in mind when I saw the large man in front of me stand up, draw a deep breath, and began his tirade. The first thing to keep in mind is if you'd accomplished the good and righteous mission you set out to accomplish. I certainly had. The secong thing is never, and I mean ever, look smug about what you did. Of course, I wanted to. I wanted to smile at him, scream back "But the vampire's dead, isn't he? His whole gang?! Your not up to your neck in meth addicted assassins?! You're fucking welcome!" I didn't do or say any of that. I looked in his face, tried to look slightly apologetic, and nodded in the appropriate places. But, I think he could smell it on me that I wasn't sorry and not even afraid at that moment. Maybe that's what made the ass chewing go on for so long. Or maybe he's just a long winded and angry guy. Or perhaps he uses his little rants like some people utilize exercise. I don't know. The office was a corner office on the second floor of some ignorable glass structure that you'd seen a million times in a million different places on the planet. I swear they must sell them in the back of Ikea next to the furniture and past the meatballs or something. He had a fantastic office I think partly because no one wanted to try and take it from him. Around his office was mementos from his long career in alternate policing. There was one photograph of him in his human form standing with a wife and child. I didn't ask about his family. Not because I wasn't curious, I was. But because I figured if I did ask he might perceive the question as some sort of threat. You never threaten a were anything either on purpose or on accident. Ever. Especially one a werewolf is afraid of. During the forty five minute screaming/growling session, hair sprouted twice. Though he fought it back down, his finger wavered, and twitched as if it was going to grow a claw. I looked him in the eye and waited, absorbing the ass chewing but not really giving it much thought. Truth was, I was starting to feel a little upset. After all, didn't I do something good for the community? Didn't I help everyone out by removing this threat? That meth gang had literally attempted to murder four people, myself included. There wasn't a whole lot of care about humanity left in them. And then there's the vampire, who had glamoured how many people? The very thugs that the cartel had sent to kill him he turned into his personal body guards. He cut me and drank some of my damn blood. My shoulder is still bleeding, and probably should have been stitched up. It still burns like a son of a bitch when I'm dumping peroxide on it at night. Why am I being punished like some imputent stepchild? "Next time, you try anything that reckless, you inform me first! You're not allowed to fart in the damn wind without my approval!" He screamed this in my face, pounding my chest with his fingertip. His words brought me back to the present, and stunned me a little. I arched an eyebrow at him, trying to play off my shock. "Next time? There's going to be a next time?" He growled and ran a hand through his hair a moment, looking away as he did. "You're damn right there's going to be a next time! Look, you're reckless, sometimes downright suicidal. You have a complete disregard for procedure..." I gave him a small shrug and said "I don't know your procedures." He paused. "Yeah, well, perhaps you should." He sat back into his chair, then leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He laced his fingers behind his head, as if he was deep into thought. "You're the craziest human I've ever met, you know that? Most humans run screaming from this. I've known military veterans who've told me that they'd rather just pretend they never saw anything and go on their entire lives pretending this weirdness doesn't exist. You on the other hand, you keep shoving your muzzle where we don't want, forcing your way into our cases in order to help solve them. Hell," he smiled, "I've sat here screaming at you for over forty minutes and you just look bored." He wasn't starting to make a whole lot of sense. "I'm completely lost here. What's going on?" Grabbing a thick book that was obvious a government regulation of some kind, he tossed it at me. It landed on the desk in front of me. I stared down at this thing. It was blue, with a large paw print of a werewolf, and a human hand print in the paw. "You won't stop disrupting our cases, despite repeated warnings from your alpha, and I can tell from your look, you won't stop with warnings from me. Look, I served. I understand where your heart and your head is." He pushed the manual closer to me. I can't give you the title, cause you're not allowed to read it, but it was a list of laws and regulations that anyone in Crash's position was supposed to follow. That I was supposed to follow. "Read that, cover to cover. That's your new bible. You better be able to quote chapter and verse from that in the next few days." My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. "I...uh..." "You're only working with Crash when he needs you and invites you into the case. This won't be an every day, or even every week deal. But from now on, you're not interfering in investigations, you're working them in an official capacity. Do you understand?" My mind went blank for a moment. "A job?! I'm getting a job?!" I was numb. I had believed I was getting arrested. Everything was turning out strange. Did I want this sort of job? Could I handle this sort of job? He smiled as if he could read my mind. "Sport, in our profession you must respond with calm and professionalism to aggression. Otherwise people get hurt or killed. I've given you my worst, you've seen the worst our kind can give, and despite you breaking several laws, you accomplished the job. But from now on, ignorance will not be leeway." He stood up, snarling, he did sprout fur. A low growl that really was threatening formed in his throat as he grabbed my collar and pulled me close to stare in his shifting, snarling face. "Next time, though, you pull a stunt like that, you really will see what the inside of my digestive tract is like. You understand?" With a hard swallow, I nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll have this whole book memorized." "Good." He smiled as he released me, then said, "Oh, and Jason?" "Yes sir?" His grin turned into a threatening one. "No one is to read that besides you and Crash. If any one else, even in your pack, reads that manual, you and they are in a lot of trouble." I tucked the manual under my arm and gave him a firm nod. "Yes sir." Before I left the room, I borrowed a white binder to keep the manual in. After all, if no one is supposed to read it, then perhaps they shouldn't see the title. Crash waved me over from where his desk was. Unlike his boss, our boss now, Crash was in a cubicle sharing a desk with two others in his division. Apparently that's the first thing to know, they're divisions not departments. They don't work for the regular police but along side them. The entire thing is strange. "Here, ya go," he told me, and slid the keyboard in front of me. It was a form of some kind on their intranet, something to get my vitals and family information. Typical first day on boarding procedures. "Holy shit, this is really happening," I muttered to myself as I sat there typing in information. I was working with Crash. I looked over at him. "I just don't know what to say." "Say you'll study that manual hard until you can literally quote it," he smiled. "I'll help you when I can." Everything was going to be different. For one thing half the things I'd been regularly doing had been technically illegal or at least frowned upon. I don't mean just with the last thing with Milton, I mean the entire time. Crash was supposed to warn me off or kill me. And despite his repeated warnings, I kept going deeper into this. I guess there's no backing out now, not that I'd want to. Life can be funny. This might be the only job on the planet that is chaotic and dangerous enough for me to feel at home in. Maybe someone or something up there honestly has a plan for my life. I certainly would appreciate it if they'd let me in on it. But, I suppose so wouldn't anyone. I'll just keep rolling with the punches and doing my best. I guess that's all I really can do. |
| It had been a long night, and felt like it’d be an even longer morning. Part of me felt as if we all had finally awakened from a years long nightmare. It was a familiar feeling, one I’d gotten after every deployment. Usually the feeling fled, days into being home. I couldn’t help but wonder how long that feeling would last. There was a beer in my hand immediately when I got home. Neither Elouise, nor Crash said a word. The first sip felt like a warm comfortable mistake, one I’d be struggling not to make over and over. Still, it was one I felt I’d earned, so I took one, then a longer sip as I avoided eye contact with both of them. I wanted to be pissed, but I couldn’t be. After all, wouldn’t I have done what they did in their shoes? Haven’t I literally done the same before to some of the others in the very house I lived in? All questions that I wasn’t certain there was any good answers for. I looked towards the woods, and sipped my beer again. The desire to chug it was hard to ignore, but ignore it I did. At least for the time being. “She brought you along, didn’t she?” Crash might have given me a nonchalant shrug. I couldn’t tell. He wasn’t looking me in the eye at that moment, that much I did know. His muzzle stared at the horizon for a moment, in that manner that I could tell he was trying to judge what to say to me. “You had training wheels on,” he eventually said. “Don’t trust the FNG, huh?” I looked over at Crash, he did actually shrug then, his ear tipping. “Don’t take it personal, you’re just a bit too green to trust doing that job alone,” Elouise said for him. I just gave her a look, shrugged and turned back to the woods. She took my shrug as a question and decided to press her argument. “You bombed two vehicles. You had no consideration for anyone that might have been inside, if anyone might have gotten hurt. I mean, Jesus, Jason! What if they had kids?! You went off half cocked hell-bent for blood and fire.” I glared at her. “No toys in the yard, no bikes, nothing so much as even a tire swing. Windows with black curtains over them, nothing else. No car seats in the cars, do I need to go on?” She crossed her arms, and snarled at me. She was in her human form now, but there was more than a bit of gator in that snarl. “The explosion was designed to do two things, surprise them, and shock the hell out of them. Shake them from clear thinking for a second, a half a second. It was the only advantage we had. The only chance of survival I had. You wanted a fair fight? All three of us would be dead right now.” Crash’s growling voice broke through my developing stormy mood. “Lighten up on her, Jason.” I looked at Crash. “You were supposed to be in bed. I was going to kill him.” “Heh, with what, a hammer and a stake?” He’d posed it as a joke, but I nodded. “Yes. A hammer, a stake. And a pole to mount his head on outside his fucking house as I burned it to the ground.” “Pike. You’re supposed to mount it on a pike, which they didn’t have.” I looked over at Elouise, and she cracked a grin. The comment hung between us a moment, and I couldn’t help but to start laughing. Crash joined in, then her. Soon, jokes were flying back and forth about the proper way to kill a vampire. My beer sat, temporarily forgotten. “So, I wasn’t authorized to kill Milton.” Crash shook his head. “I was only authorized to kill the humans.” Crash nodded. His silence routine was starting to get on my nerves. “Do I need to get your leash and take you on walkies?” “We both know, that’d end up with me giving you walkies.” Chuckles all around followed that one. Elouise and Crash then began talking about the appropriate way to walk a human. I jumped in where I could with that. Apparently, I’d need to be muzzled, and have my hands bound behind my back, be wearing a harness, because you know a collar is just cruel. I’d apparently choke myself to death on it in my own stupidity. “What I don’t get,” Elouise said eventually. “Is why that guy in the suit. Why was he even there?” “Drug connection. I didn’t recognize him, but apparently he was some drug lord who had shown up to get to Milton. All of that meth about drained Milton’s abilities, but he must have had enough strength to mesmerize the men that guy brought with him.” I took a long sip of my beer, then set it down. “I figure, Milton originally got some weight from the guy. Probably a kilo, I don’t figure Milton was smart enough to negotiate more. Then, he missed his payments. That guy was probably there to collect.” She nodded. “Yeah, I remember him talking about payment. Shit, it’s why we made our own down in Louisiana. No one to come knocking, trying to collect on ya.” I nodded and looked over at Crash. He still wasn’t looking at me. “You pissed at how I did the job?” He didn’t answer for a moment or two. To be honest, it did make me a little nervous. “No, I think you did fine, considering your limitations. If we ever have humans involved, expect to get a phone call.” I grinned. “Well, next time, I won’t do it for free.” He grinned back, finally looking at me. “Since when do interns get paid?” Well, fellas, I must get running, a girl’s gotta get her beauty sleep. Come here cher.” She leaned in and motioned for us both to hug her, which we happily did. Then, I finished my beer in a few large swallows and wished Crash a good morning. It was hard to ignore the desire for another, but I’d managed to do it. Everyone had come out of the hospital the next day. Crash picked everyone up in his car. We looked at each other, hugged once, and then climbed inside. Zack asked two questions. “Is he dead and did he suffer?” I looked at him. There was an anger in his eyes I hadn’t seen on Zack’s face, I think in ever. It pained me to see it there. Zack normally had a kind face, the sort that’s more designed for smiling than growling. I felt fresh rage at Milton for stealing some of that from him. For stealing some of that innocence. “Yes to both, and both were self-inflicted,” I said. He nodded. “Good.” And then didn’t say anything else the rest of the car ride home. No one did. Kris and Sean leaned against each other gingerly. Zack glared out at the sidewalk. I sat in the back by the door, wondering what this would mean for us. How it would change our little group. For the first time in a long time, I found myself praying. I prayed that it didn’t. I just hope my prayers weren’t in vain. |
| Milton's hideout was Custor Manor, a large stately home in the tri-county area. It was known by legend and myth to every child and teenager who ever grew up in and around the county, as well as being the setting for numerous local childhood nightmares. Built decades ago by an eccentric millionaire, at a time when eccentric meant rich and insane, it was designed to house himself and his wife, and protect them against what he believed was magic attacks. Legend says that Old man Custor, sometime in the 19th century, was obsessed with magic and the mystical arts. He felt that the key to immortality was through the occult. It's here that the myths differ. One myth has him sacrificing his wife and accidentally summoning a demon that possessed and killed him. Another myth has him summoning a vampire who controlled both and destroyed them. So of course, it was the place that Milton was holed up in. The manor hid from the highway behind a grove of trees that just barely covered the lower roof line. A winding gravel path pushed through the trees, holding them at bay. Greasy, of course, didn't want to go any further than the trees themselves. "Alright," he muttered. "You're here. Now, let me go?" I motioned him out with my pistol. He sputtered. "W-what?! Come on, man! I lead you to him, don't do this to me, please..." The fear and anguish on his face almost got me to let him go. Almost. Then, I remembered Crash. Pale, lying on his bed, sweating profusely. Almost dying. I gritted my teeth and pressed the pistol into his back. "Walk." I didn't look at Elouise, but she didn't voice any complaint. He blubbered, stumbling over his own two feet. I held him upright with his collar as I marched him forward, Elouise walked behind me with her head on a swivel, covering our tracks. "We're going to have a conversation when we get back," she muttered. I suppressed a snarl. "Just bring the beer." All I could see in the grove to our left and right was an inky blackness that seemed to have an unlife of their own. There was no sounds, no music of crickets chirping out their song, or frogs croaking out a chorus. Just the dead silence before the battle. My nerves were on edge, my teeth gritted hard as we marched towards the fence. The gothic windows and tall roof lines didn't have any shooters in them. There was a movement in the window near the highest spire, like a curtain being moved to glance outside. Then there was nothing else. A dark German SUV sat near the front of the door. Memories flashed through my mind of the first time we faced off against The Nobility. The silver gate intercom lit up, shining in our faces. "I knew you'd be along eventually," a wheezing voice told me. It sounded like Milton, but a weakened version. As if something had drawn out the life blood of the vampire. A snarl pulled up on my face, but before I could say anything, Milton said "Come on in." Then the gate unlocked and opened for us. We pushed through, with Elouise at my side, Greasy walking in front of us with the stiff movements of the condemned. A blackened European SUV stood near the main door, their sweeping marble steps and columns leading us upwards into two large dark oak wooden doors. Strange animals and symbols were carved into it. We entered the doorway, and pushed into the mansion. Dark wood surrounded us, blood red carpeting was under our feet. Two men followed us at a distance, another two men started pacing beside them as we walked. Our own executioner line keeping pace with us and staying back ten paces. Wheezing laughter, and jokes echoed through the halls as we walked. Jokes about how my blood would taste, about eating rougarou tail like a gator. "Must be a delicacy on a ritz cracker," then more wheezing laughter. It grew louder and louder until we pushed through into a living room of sorts where we found Milton, staring off into another room. He was propped against the wall as if it was the only thing holding him up. The meth had destroyed most of his face by now. His arms were covered in scabs, which for a vampire, it's hard to do. They don't heal as fast as werewolves I'm told, but you have to scratch a lot to cause enough damage for them to scab over. He scratched at them almost constantly. He was rail thin. I could literally count every bone in his torso, collar, ribs, even back bones. "Heh, strike at the wolf, and how the sheep does scatter, hehe," he wheezed. "You look like shit, I'm happy to see," I snarled. "Well, you don't, I'm happy to see," he gasped, then stepped forward. "You're looking nice and healthy." Taking slow steps towards me, he withdrew a large knife, the kind of knife you could hear Paul Hogan praise. Then he beckoned Greasy forward. Greasy whimpered, like he was resisting. It was weird, I'd never seen anyone actively resist the call of a vampire before. Once you were enthralled, that was that. Yes, Sarah had done it. But you couldn't hear her whimper, see her push back against the mental programming. It was one moment, she's under control, the next, game time. But Greasy looked as if he could bolt at any moment. He stepped, held his ground, shaking. "Sh...." Milton said, in mock comfort. "I'm not going to eat your soul." He glared at me and grinned. "Someone else will whet my appetite." Milton pressed the blade inward, pushing it into his abdomen and out the back, slowly. Greasy screamed, long, low and loud. No matter what the bastard had done, what he had planned to do to me, I couldn't take it anymore. "Elouise," I said. Then I pulled my pistol. The first shot put Greasy out of his misery. I didn't pause to see Milton's expression. I spun as quick as I could. Elouise had snarled and dove on two the left, her jaws snapping around one and ending his struggles quick, while her thick tail knocked the legs out of another. The other two got one shot off apiece. Elouise growled and groaned in that low croaking nature. One went through her hip, the other into her gut. I shot the other two as quick as I could. The closest man stepped back, and buckled. The next cried out and spun, the bullet hitting his shoulder. Before I could do more, I felt a blade against my throat. "Well now, that was more fun than shining," Milton wheezed. "It's damn amazing watching you work, like hell's angels at play. You suppose I'll get some of that speed from you?" I felt the blade at my shoulder. My blood ran cold. He was so weak, but so was Elouise. She couldn't stand yet, her body still healing from the shots. "Why," I snarled. "Why are you back here, why do you keep fucking with us?!" He laughed and I felt the blade drop, his arm slack just a bit. I tried raising my pistol slightly to shoot at him but the blade tip pressed into my throat. "I may not be a hundred percent right now, but I can tell what you're doing. Keep it up, and I'll bleed you like the pig you are." The blade cut into a spot on my shoulder, causing me to wince. Elouise was up this time, but gasping, holding her gut. Every step she took was staggered. "Thank you, by the way, those men were going to betray me later," Milton wheezed. "I'm here on business. Your deaths was just extra slop for the pig." The blade sliced into my shoulder. I winced and he whispered in my ear, "I've been waiting for this." Elouise stumbled forward, and fell, her thick gator tail swaying from side to side. I felt his decaying mouth press against my shoulder. He began to suck, pulling blood from the wound, his disgusting moaning like a man dining on the finest steak dinner. With it, I felt something else drawing out of me. A new weakness had started to enter me. I gasped. "Sweet ambrosia. I'm gonna keep you around for a long time," he growled. Then laughed. "Oh, and you're feeling it ain't ya boy?" "Alright, you've had your fun," a voice called out. The voice held a latin tinge to it. I looked into the direction Milton had been talking in when we entered the room. A well dressed man stepped forward, with the appearance of someone who was bred on chaos and grew up in violence. He looked like a man who had grown up inside a cartel and excelled at their ways. "You said you could get us distribution in the area. You promised to move serious weight, my friend." The man opened a silver cigarette case, pulled out a single cigarette and lit it. "All you've seemed to do was get your own men killed. And now, you're getting my men killed." "Sometimes you gotta sacrifice a few pawns to strike the king." Milton said. I winced in disgust when he started sucking on my wound again, my strength pulling into him. I felt a headache coming on. "I may not have control of you, but you will be my food till you die." "You owe the family more than a hundred thousand dollars for the meth you've already wasted," the new man said. He pulled almost as quickly as I did. I didn't react. I thought I honestly thought was dead. Milton, however, screamed. He started jumped on a single foot twice, then fell down. "You shot my foot you bastard!" "You seem to think we're some kind of a bank. Well, you forget amigo, banks charge interest." The gun barked fire again. Milton screamed as the slug punched through his shoulder. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..." The new man knelt over Milton and waved the pistol over his head, "Time to pay your interest you stupid mother..." he never got to finish. Milton may have been mostly dead, he may have had two bullets in him, but he was still a vampire. He grabbed the pistol from the man's hand in a blink, and began pulling the trigger. I didn't count the number of shots, but the He crawled over him, screaming. "You gonna shoot me, you slick suited bastard! Die!" The man fell off his heals and onto his back. He was dead before he hit the floor. "Fuck, I'm gonna need blood," Milton muttered. He waved the pistol at me. "Come here." I tried to go for mine, and he laughed. "No, no, meal plan. You don't get to try that. Throw your iron down. You did your bit, now it's my turn." He pointed his gun at Elouise. "Or, I'll blow off something she's gonna miss." I gritted my teeth in disgust and tossed the pistol away. "Now, come here..." he gasped. A low growl echoed through the hallways. Milton's eyes went wide. "Holy shit. You're dead. You're dead. You're supposed to be fucking dead!" Crash stumbled through the door in full werewolf form. His ears were folded down. He occasionally had to walk on all fours, before picking himself back up. He didn't say anything to me. Step by step, he stalked forward over to Milton, finally landing on the vampire. Milton brought the pistol up, but Crash casually knocked it away. He snarled over Milton, his teeth inches from his face. Crash's lips were still blue. "You attacked my pack. You nearly killed me. You killed innocent people. You sold meth." He gasped for a moment. Milton winced, as drool from Crash's mouth landed on his head. "You're sentence is death." Milton looked skyward, if he had any teeth left, he would have been grinding them. "You killed Leeroy you bastard! You all did! Except gator girl, she just came in with your mangy mutts." I limped over to Milton. I looked down at him. "Your mistake was making it personal." He hissed at me. "You did that first. You killed my brother." I pulled my pistol and pressed it into his eye socket and growled. "You took my wife." Crash looked at me. "Jason, I got this. Go with Elouise, and wait outside." I grabbed her, and somehow managed to pick her up. We were near the doors when Milton's screaming started. By the time we got down the steps, his screaming had stopped. |
| It felt like hours before Vic made his appearance. In reality, it was less then ninety minutes. The vampire stepped inside without knocking, holding a bag that looked like an ancient doctors bag stolen from the set of an old Gun Smoke episode. I nodded at him and brought him towards the back, to Crash's bedroom where he lay. He nodded back and didn't speak. No jokes about me being food, about how terrible werewolves were. Just a cold business face of a doctor working a terrible case. His silence only made me more anxious, which set my simmering rage into a boil. Supplies were unrolled and laid out in a methodical manner. Medicine bottles with mysterious clear liquids were used first, injected directly into Crash's shoulder. He cried, bucked, and whimpered. Then what looked like silver puss started pushing out of where the wound was. Vic washed it away, then poured peroxide over the forming hole in Crash's shoulder. He patted it dry. "Silver is insidious for werewolves," Vic explained as he worked. "It doesn't hurt them to touch it, to hold it. Or even wear it as jewelry. But if it gets into their system, with a blade or a bullet, or sprinkled on their food, it makes their system go haywire." He injected more fluid into the wound, and Crash began to give pained whines like a dog. Those whines stabbed me straight through the heart. More puss pushed out, this time a darker red color. "Their body tries to heal, but can't. Tissue is regenerated where it can be, like the skin. But tissue inside, just begins to rot. The toxin pumps through their system. The rot accelerates, spreads. You can't see it or smell it with your human senses. But believe me, it's vile in here." More injections, then the scalpel came out. "We'll need to cut away rotted tissue. He's almost delirious and will try to fight back. We need someone stronger than you to hold him down." Elouise was closer, so I called her in to help. She promised to be over in ten minutes. She walked through the door in eight, panting. "Had to run," she said. I pointed to where Crash was in the back. "I've got to go," I said. "Where the hell are you going," she snapped at me. "To kill them." She gave me a look of pain and confusion. "I know you want revenge, but Crash needs you now." "They're not going to stop until we're dead." She glared at me for a moment. I could tell she knew I was right, and in that moment, she hated me for it. "You better come back," she snapped, then stormed back to Crash's room. Cries rose up as I stepped out of the house. I walked over to my car, my blood boiling with rage, with pain. It wasn't a complicated plan. Which is why I knew it'd work. Simplest plans almost always work. The most difficult part was going to be finding them. My first stop was the gas station. I filled a gas jug, then bought matches. I went to dollar general and bought a couple electric lighters and a couple cheap remote controlled cars. Putting in a call to Crash's boss, got me the address of a certain meth house at the edge of the county. One that had a beat up shit box of a car and a low rider in front of it. As well as a fancy dark SUV of some kind seen there regularly. "I've told them of your temporary deputy duties. Don't make me regret this," he said. "Don't worry, the bomb won't be too big," I told him. "Wait! What?!" He shouted as I hung up the phone. His next few text messages and subsequent voice mail proceeded to describe his nervousness about my plan and his fears of civilian casualties. I think the exact language was "If you kill anyone you're not supposed to, I'm going to rip your spine through your asshole." The rest of the preparations I had to go back home to make. By the time I came back, Elouise was still there, and Crash was passed out. "He looks horrible," she said. "You should be here taking care of him, not me." "They struck us. The only reason I'm okay right now is I got lucky." I was concentrating hard on the pot in front of me, finishing my bomb. The cheap stick on tile of the kitchen floor, the ancient refrigerator, it had a haunted feeling to it then. As if the bastards had drained the life from the house. She didn't say anything to that. I turned to her. "I'm nearly done here. Could you go in the back and take care of Crash? I don't want you to see this next part. Plausible deniability and all that." Her shoulders fell, and she ran a hand through her thin hair. "I wish you'd let me help you." "You are. If I fail, he's going to need you," I whispered. "It'll be days before Zack, Kris or Sean are out of the hospital." "I don't get how you can just march out there alone into this fight," she whispered back. Her words came in a rush, a rush that matched the snarl on her face. "Once you accept you could die at any time, it gets a little easier." She didn't say anything to that. I'm not sure there was much for her to say. I left the house that evening right around dark 30. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the darkness of the woods seemed to call. "Time to clock in," I told no one, and got in my car, then began to drive to a certain address off a forgotten county road, at the edge of the county. *** It was a rundown shack of some kind. A two story house that had peeling white wash, with an ancient wire fence around it that was mostly choked with trees growing up along the line. The yard was more thick weeds than grass. There was brown spots in it in the shape of one vehicle or another. In the back of the property was the glow of a bonfire, and the tell tale sound of some country rap rock mix echoing from close by. I'd parked my car off to the side of the road and was preparing to walk in. My pistol was drawn, and I had both my bombs under my arm. The gasoline had been gelled, the wires and matches pointed inward with the remnants of the electric lighters wired up specially to ignite the entire thing. It was a water bottle, wire, and duct tape mess. But it would at least ignite. I hoped. "So, what's the plan?" Elouise had managed to sneak up beside me in full gator mode, and growl the question in my ear. It took everything not to leap out of my skin. "Elouise, why are you here?" "You think Crash is going to let you do this alone," She asked incredulously. She had gone full gator mode, and her thick tail was swaying side to side behind her. "Who' watching Crash," I asked. "Relax, Charles and his wife are chipping in. Crash's boss told me to bite your head off if you screw this up, by the way. Sounded like he meant literally." Great. I was on a revenge tour with a babysitter and now Crash had two hulderfolk trying to watch him. I gritted my teeth, and looked skyward a moment. "Yeah, he meant literally. Here, your placing these. Find the gas tank, and wedge it into the car next to it. Then come back here and wait." She moved to the vehicles quickly and quietly, slinking through the weeds and grass while keeping as low as possible. Her dark form seemed to swim through the tall grass and weeds, then swam back towards me, her green thick skin almost glistening in the moonlight. I handed her the remote when she got back. I whispered, "you do the honors." She pulled the throttle on the controller. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, boom! A mushroom ball of flame and death rose into the sky. Windows shattered in the house, then flames rolled into it, engulfing ratty curtains. I had expected to hear panicked screams, of people burning inside. Thankfully, there was none. I walked low down the driveway, pistol at the ready as men started running towards the explosion. My pistol barked fire once. Twice. Two men fell, one dead before he hit the ground from a head shot, another giving soft gasps of the dying. A third came and before I could shoot Elouise attacked, snapping his neck cleanly. We got around back, the ringing in our ears had begun to die down by then. Loud music started to be heard. It was a strange mix of country, rap and metal. Like Alan Jackson and Kid Rock had started a Nu-Metal band together. There was one man left standing. Greasy, from the grocery store. He backed up, his eyes going wide. Two women, screamed and scattered away from him. He had a pistol in his hand. He dropped it, and started running. Elouise looked at me. "You can if you want. We need him alive." She sprinted after him far faster than I'd seen her run in a long time. Soon, he was on the ground, his head in her jaws. I squatted in front of him. "Milton." He winced and closed his eyes. The fire roared in the background, the house began to go up in flames. An explosion from inside, remnants of whatever meth operation they were running going up in smoke. Me and Elouise both pulled back. Greasy tried to run. She easily tackled him again, and put his head right back in her jaws. "He'll drain me, he'll kill me. He'll make me do it to myself, I've seen it!" I knelt in front of him again, a little more gingerly this time. "You're head is in the jaws of a Rougarou. I'd be a little more concerned with that, if I were you." I cocked the gun, and pressed it against his knee. "Talk." |
| Crash's groans bordered on screams. I could tell the bullet was burning him alive form the inside out. It was like his body was trying to reject the very vile thing like poison, but just couldn't do it fast enough. For a werewolf, any standard bullet hurt like hell, yes. But it takes a lot more than a 9mm clip to put a werewolf down. One silver bullet though, and he was on the ground, his lips turning blue, his skin turning silver, writhing in pain. I was reminded of my first encounter with The Nobility, when I'd shot the werewolf on top of me. The bullet carved upwards, slicing through his skin and into his forearm. He had to bite his forearm off as some sort of precaution or something. Crash, couldn't exactly bite his shoulder off. The burning seemed to be getting worse, his groaning was changing into gasped whimpers and whines. I applaud Sean. He struggled to a crawling position, favoring an arm that looked broken and his ribs. With a staggered crawl that was half supported by Kris, they laid against Crash, unable to do much more than that. The sirens were growing louder, but I wasn't sure if they'd even get to us in time to save him. And what could they do for a werewolf, anyway? Would they even believe a werewolf existed? I had no idea, but I wasn't about to find out. Kris had earlier mentioned a knife. I didn't waste time looking for it. Reaching into my pocket next to my wallet, I pulled out my father's pocket knife. For this, I was going to have to disregard anything I'd been taught about combat life saving. Gritting my teeth and saying a short prayer to anyone who might be listening, I knelt down and got to work. The wound in Crash's shoulder had already started to close. His body seemed to be going haywire. He was gasping, his heart rate struggling. I knelt down, and told Crash "This is going to hurt." Then I started cutting. He didn't care if I cut into the wound around the bullet hole. But if I cut the bullet hole itself, he cried out, as if I was carving into infected flesh. The sirens were getting closer. The wound kept trying to close around the bullet. I cut deeper, hoping I wasn't doing permanent damage. Crash's breathing was getting shallow. His pale skin was glistening with sweat. He started shivering as if he was losing blood. Gritting my teeth in determination, I snarled "I can't be delicate. I'm sorry." The wound tried to close again. The sirens were blaring. I didn't look up. His breathing got ragged, more shallow, as if he had just seconds left. Like a man preparing to take his last gasp. I slashed with my knife, one way, then the other. Blood splattered in both directions, spraying over Kris and Sean, over the ground, over myself. I reached into the wound, and dug, slashing deeper, not being careful anymore. He cried out, begging in rushed syllables that failed to form words. The sirens had stopped. Reaching in, I felt around. The bullet slipped out of my fingers once. Twice. The hole closed a little more. But it gave me just enough leverage to snatch it out. I pulled the bullet up, gasping, a smile on my face. I looked up and saw three EMTs staring at me, in horrified shock. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" one of them snarled as he shoved me out of the way. I didn't see their faces as much as their uniforms and gurney. I collided with a grunt on the ground again. My leg, and hip was now completely numb. I sat there a moment, trying not to show pain. Crash's breath was shallow. The wound wasn't closing nearly as fast now, it looked more natural. I couldn't tell about his skin color. He whimpered, then whined like a dog. Coughing, he told the nearest EMT "Code silver...code silver..." They all looked at each other. One of them snatched the bullet from my grasp. "Silver." She said. They made a call on the radio after that, using a code word that I agreed to keep out of the blog. They looked at me, and the lead EMT, a tall man with thinning hair, said, "We can't take him in the ambulance. But someone will be along." I watched as they loaded Kris and Sean. The doors was about to swing closed, and they left. I sat there with Crash alone, talking inane banality while we waited for someone to arrive to help him. The wait felt like eternity. But in reality, it was probably less than ten minutes before Crash's boss stepped out of the shadows. As a werebear, whatever they're called, he was massive with brown and black fur, and eyes that looked as if they were ready to kill. "You got names," he snarled at me. He didn't look at Crash. It was like he couldn't. His round ears was folded in anger, a snarl on his face. "I do." He gave me a chuff, and wrinkled his muzzle. "Trust me human, it will be better if I do this. Let me be your justice." I pointed down at Crash. "He's what's left of my pack." I didn't know when I'd formed the tear of anger, when my hands were clenched into fists. Or even when I'd pulled my pistol. But I had done all three. "I'm doing this." His snarl grew. He threw Crash over his shoulder, and gently laid him in the back seat. "This discussion to be continued at your home." He turned and disappeared into the shadows from whence he came. *** The trip home was a long silent one. Every bump made Crash whimper and wince. I tried driving as carefully as possible, a growing rage simmering within me at each whimper and moan Crash made. At the thought of Kris, Sean, and Zack, all attacked for no other reason than existing. Existing near me and Crash. Crash's boss met us at the house. His brown and black fur barely visible under the thin lights of the street lamp. He gingerly picked up Crash, and carried him inside. He was careful to not bump Crash into any of the doorways or furniture, ducking through the small hallway before he gently laid Crash on his bed. "Vic is on his way," the boss said. "You were about to give me names so I didn't tear your head off the slow way." "As much fun as that sounds, I'm not." I crossed my arms, and glared up at him, feeling every bit like a six year old challenging 1980's Mike Tyson to a fist fight. Still, I couldn't back down now. "You can't do that to me. I'm not part of your jurisdiction." He growled, his hand like paws clenching into fists. The muscles beneath his dark fur rippled. "How about I have you hauled away for obstruction of justice, instead?!" "Wouldn't be my first time in jail," I replied. I pulled out my phone. "You want me to dial?" His eyes went wide. But there appeared to be some begrudging respect behind them. We stood there for a heartbeat, staring at each other. Him breathing so hard his entire body was moving, me holding the cell phone out to him, like a child giving a monster a peace offering. "What do you want," he snarled, finally. "I'm going to war," I told him. "I want the authority to do it legally." Again, we stared at each other for several more heartbeats. "You want Crash's job." "They die one way or another." After another long pause, he said, "you know, I've read your file. You were into some heavy shit a few years back." "Then, you know what I'm capable of," I replied. He stepped forward. Put his right paw over my heart. "You're the first human to get this in over a hundred fifty years." He closed his eyes as if trying to remember something, his round ears tilted forward, his face almost looked calm. "Do you swear to move alone by night? To be the sole protector of the innocent who walk in light? To guide our kind and guard your own?" "I do," I said, looking at his face. "This is a promise you've sworn over your very heart. It is now etched upon your soul." He tore away my shirt from my chest with his claws, then scratched my chest where my heart was, drawing blood. "If you betray your promise and betray human or us, if you fail to provide necessary service in course of your duties, your very life will be forfeit. Do you accept?" "I do." He looked down at me, his face getting close to mine. "This is serious human. This promise cannot be revoked. Do you promise to uphold and honor all our laws, as you know them. To protect the innocent and the weak. Do you promise as my deputy, to fulfill your duties or die trying?" "I do." "You start tomorrow night," he told me. "You have one night. Crash should be back and around then. You fail and I really will tear your head off the slow way." I gave him a single nod. "I fail, you'll be notifying my next of kin," I promised him. Then he melted into the shadows of the trees again. I had twenty four hours. Crash was moaning on his bed. Milton was out there somewhere, that meth-headed freak of a vampire was celebrating. I gritted my teeth harder. In situations like this, you have a singular moment to make a decision. To either mourn, or prepare. I'd chosen to mourn later. I was about to give those bastards something they haven't seen yet. I was going to war. |
| At first what Crash had told me didn't register. My entire brain had stopped and started again. Who would want to attack Zack? He's quiet and shy, kind to a fault, and says nothing to anyone. I had to ask Crash to repeat himself. "Yeah, two thugs jumped him outside of the factory. Didn't say a word to him. Several of his co-workers chased them off and called 9-1-1." Pain could wait. I stood, and grabbed my pistol. "What did they look like," I demanded. Crash shook his head. "No. No, Jason. This is for the police. I'm not even allowed to intervene, as much as I'd love to sink my teeth into those bastards, I can't." I wanted to punch the wall. I opted to throw down a pill bottle instead. The blue bottle with the label that promised to stop knee and back pain exploded and white pills scattered across the floor. Crash didn't look at me. He just glared down at the pills like me. He didn't say anything for a minute. He didn't have to. "Damn things don't work anyway," I snarled. His eyes raised up to me then, as if seeing my pain for the first time. "What happened, Jason?" "I was attacked in the store." I explained to Crash then about the greased up guy, about the pistol, the fight. "Damn tweaker," I snarled. "It's on TikTok. Cop watched the entire video, complete with laugh track and smiley faces over the heads." "Wait a minute," Crash said. His eyes were lit up as if he had a sudden revelation. "Tweakers?" My phone rang, interrupting him. When I answered, Kris began shouting frantically before I could even get a word out. It came out in a panicked mumble. It had all the echoes of someone stepping into a battlefield the first time without any experience or training. My own instincts kicked in. I spoke in even measured tones, while motioning to Crash. He leaned in to listen while I put the phone on speaker. "Take a deep breath. I know it's going to be hard, but try to calm down. Start at the beginning. What's going on?" "They're attacking Sean! They're trying to kill him!" "Where are you now?" I could hear the sounds of flesh impacting flesh. Of grunts and snarls that could only come from a violent fight. "Outside of Sean's work. We were gonna do a date night." "Where are you," I asked. "I'm in my car, doors locked." "Good, me and Crash are on the way. Call the cops." I started shuffling to the door while Crash bolted for his car. "are they tweakers?" "I think so, yeah. Skinny, meth mouthed guys." By the time I made it to Crash's car, he already had the engine running. "We're on our way. Keep the doors locked and call the cops." As we moved down the road, I checked my load out. Only magazine I had was the one I kept loaded in it. Was seventeen rounds of silver going to be enough to deal with what was going down over there? How much of an ambush was this? Would my fry grease tweaker be back with reinforcements? Perhaps one guy covered in burger grease and one covered in chocolate syrup? typically, it's about a twenty five minute drive to Sean's work. We made it in twelve. Sean worked in a locally owned T-shirt shop. It was in a prefab metal building with a gravel parking lot on the edge of the largest city nearby. Thick, old trees grew at the edges of the parking lot, hiding a large farmers field on one side. It had highway access on the other. The perfect spot to beat someone to death and then drive away without anyone seeing or stopping you if you weren't all that concerned with modern security cameras. Next to Kris' car was a beat up car of some kind that might have been one of the ones circling the block. But I didn't spend a lot of time, staring at it, I was more concerned with the three guys beating the crap out of Kris and Sean. By the time we got there, Sean was on the ground, covering his face, while two guys repeatedly kicking him. He was bruised and bloody. His face looked like Rocky's after a twelve round fight. Kris, not listening to anything I'd told him, had tried to use a tire iron to help his man, and was being beaten against the building by a third thug. The tire iron sat in the dirt behind the skinny thug, who kept wailing on his gut, while Kris was doubled over, trying to protect himself. They were all meth mouthed, with faces wrinkled and pitted, cheeks sunk in from years of abuse. Their arms thin, one guy was losing his hair, a ring of blond peppered the edges. He looked thirty going on eighty. The guy next to him, kicking the shit out of Sean, had no hair, opting to either shave it or it simply had fallen out from undernourishment and drug abuse. Either could have been true. The third had greasy, short brown hair. All three of the attackers were drug addicts of one kind or another. Pushers and users, with clothing in varying degrees of cleanliness. Blue jeans, battered sneakers and whatever T shirts they found for free or could steal from Goodwill. As Crash's car slid into the gravel parking lot, all three turned to look at us. Crash was out before it had even come to a stop. He zeroed in on the nearest tweaker, the skinny guy with greasy short brown hair that had been attacking Kris, and sprinted over to him in his human form with surprising speed. The guy stepped to Crash as if to box him, but Crash punched brown hair in the face, the gut, then uppercut him in rapid succession. The uppercut was so violent and hard, you could hear the crunch of his nose as his head flew backwards, and his body crashed into the ground. Blood sprayed out like a squashed tomato. The guy cried out, grabbing his face and holding his nose while he rolled on the ground. While that was going on, I stepped towards the two tweakers who had been kicking the shit out of Sean on the ground. There's a magical spot on your knee. If you hit it just right, your football career is over, and all those fancy commercials that you did when your the star running back of the NFL and star outfielder in Major League Baseball dries up faster than a spilled drink in death valley. Just ask Bo, he knows all too well. The balding blondie took a swing, the I side stepped, and I stomped on his knee in this magical spot as hard as I could. It snapped and crunched like someone breaking celery. Screams echoed through the parking lot as he hit the ground, clutching his knee. While the first guy was falling, the second guy got a lucky shot on my side that sent a jolt of pain up through my back. I couldn't do anymore. I was on the ground next to the first guy, staring up at the sky, effectively out of the fight. Crash literally took two steps, grabbed and pushed him. He went flying backwards, sliding several feet into the gravel. "Kris. Where are the cops," I asked, gasping through some of the pain. "I didn't get to call them. One of them pull a knife," he had limped over to Sean and laid down next to him, holding him tight. I looked back skyward, and saw Crash standing over me. "Are you going to cuddle me, too," I asked. He rolled his eyes. "You'll be fine," he snarled as he pulled out his phone, and began calling the fight in. Somewhere in the distance, I heard tires squeal as a car left the parking lot in a hurry. The three tweakers had managed to limp away and make their get away it seemed. Concentrating on the guys, I hadn't had a good look at the vehicle, but it felt vaguely familiar, like one of the vehicles that had been circling our house the entire time. I looked over at Sean, and he had pulled Kris into a hug. I turned my head and pretended to not hear what they whispered to each other through their shared pain as they tried to console each other. "Crash," I said on the ground. "I missed all the signs. I'm sorry. Everything, every one of them..." He knelt down next to me. "It's alright. I wrote them off, too. I think we were supposed to write them off." "Tweakers. I thought Milton was dead. This is our fight now, Crash." He didn't respond, just looked out towards the woods. I recognized that face. Milton soon would be dead. It felt like the police had taken their sweet time to arrive. But really, it was probably just a few minutes. The ambulance sirens were in the distance. Crash had stood, I think to shift and race into the woods. What happened next will forever be burned into my memory. He took a step towards the road. The car, the beat up brown piece of crap car that we had originally saw, sped by. The pistol was out the window and before crash could do anything, the shots rang out. Four shots. Three missed everything but the trees behind us. One struck Crash in the shoulder. There was a puff of blood, then the shot echoed out. Crash yelped then hit the ground, clutching his shoulder. All three of us stared at him stunned as Crash lay on the ground, crying about how much it burned. "Silver..." I whispered. By the time, I sat up and pulled my own pistol, they were gone. Crash had a silver bullet buried in his shoulder. I could hear the ambulance, but not see them. God only knew how far out they were, or if they could get there in time to save him. |
| Watching Valyur and his new love get aquainted was nice. It was a cute sort of sweetness that you only get from the best and cheesiest romantic comedies. The new lawn gnome was quite skittish of us, which I didn't blame her. The crack in her head that ran jagged down from her hair to her face told a story of cruelty she kept unspoken. I wasn't sure if her crack was healing, or if it was a scar, but it seemed rude to ask. We still had the same vehicles that kept rolling through town and kept the local PD busy. A Sentra from twenty or so years ago that looked as if it was more rust than metal. A Buick sedan from about ten years ago, and occasionally, a posh European sports coupe. German engineering at it's finest and most complicated. The kind of vehicle that someone who grew up without money would think was stylish and sporty when they came into money. Whoever they are, whatever drug or weapons deals they may have been involved with never caused us any trouble, so we did our best to ignore and avoid them. True occasionally they'd slow down near our property, but none of them would stop, none would stare too hard. All three vehicles had deeply tinted windows, so they could have been mooning us with sparklers in their butt cracks and we wouldn't have seen it. The Nissan's tint was bubbling badly, but the tint still did it's job. As much as I end up getting roped into trouble, I figured this was a job best left to local police. After all, I'm not a cop, and I was certain they wouldn't appreciate me defending my home from random people driving around it without even violating the speed limit. Having ultra dark window tint doesn't seem like a capital offense. So, you could argue I was ignoring the issues that was sparking up around us. I still feel bad about that. Like I should have been more vigilant in doing my job. Maybe things would have turned out differently had I been doing my job more. Of I had given those riding around with ultra dark window tint warning shots. Perhaps if I'd have been more careful and doing my self-appointed job in protecting this pack, maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they did. Regrets. They're like ugly family heirlooms. You get them for free. You'd throw them out if you could, but you know you'll never be able to. They sit in the darkest corners, waiting on the right time for you to see them, and despair. But, I kept myself blissfully unaware of the goings on with excuses, an extra helping of "not my job" and a dose of "Crash doesn't seem upset." The first minor clue that I had been ignoring something big was when that snub nosed .38 was shoved in my face. It was in the evening. I was standing in the middle of the local grocery store looking at items for dinner. Our grocery store is the size of a large convenience store in some places. It has room for just about everything you need, but nothing you'd want but don't need. The isles feels crowded when you walk through them alone with your buggy. But apparently there's at least enough space on the floor to wrestle for your life. Over by the frozen burger patties was where everything started going sideways. The silver of the muzzle flashed in the corner of my eye. My next actions was entirely automatic, thanks to hours and hours of drilling and practice when I was in the mlitary.. I ducked, grabbed the guys arm. The next action was going to twist his arm then strike the elbow so he'd drop the weapon. However, that's not what happened. It was when I grabbed his wrist that I noticed something strange. He was a skinny man, wearing a dirty, once white colored wife beater and what I think was blue jeans, but they were so filthy God or the universe only knows what color they were supposed to be. His face as well as his arms were covered with the typical meth scabs, with his cheeks sunken in, his hair greasy, and his skin shiny from head to just about his toes. The shine was from fryer grease. It smelled like he had gone diving in a vat of used oil in the back of one of those fast food places. When I grabbed his wrist and pulled, the damn thing slipped right out. Before he could shove the pistol in my face again, I tackled him. Most of my military training in hand-to-hand combat was nearly foiled cause of how slick the bastard was. Everything I'd grab slipped out of my hand until I, too was covered in the disgusting fryer grease. He tried raising the pistol. I struck his hand with my elbow and punched him as hard as I could in the face. The pistol slid several feet across the floor. I dove for the gun, grabbed it and aimed. It was here that I found out or little ruckus had attracted a crowd. Five different people had started recording our strange encounter, no doubt to put on TikTok, complete with smiley face stickers over faces, stupid music blaring too loud, and cartoon sound effects. I couldn't shoot him for fear of hitting one of them. Not that the loss of a TikToker who thinks it's funny to record a guy fighting for his life would be tremendously devastating. But the law tends to look down on shooting innocent bystanders, no matter how much they deserve it. I sat on the floor, now covered in my own fry grease, waiting. The cameras' didn't go away. So, I gave them a wave. A one fingered salute sort of wave, but a wave. If I had more grease around, say if it was in a puddle, I would have thrown some on the TikTok jerks. Instead, I sat there on the floor until the police arrived. After questioning, and more questioning, after hearing witness statements and watching TikTok videos, one of which already had over 100,000 views, I was allowed to go home. Being the impromptu unwilling star of a TikTok video was strange and not surprising all at the same time. The only thing I really felt from it, was a numbness and tingling down my leg, that radiated itself into my brain and mood. By the time I finally made it home, I was snarling. Limping to the counter, I set the grocery bags on it. Seeing Crash preparing for his night shift routine, I told him, "Put those up please, I'll cook later." Then I stripped my greasy clothing off and laid down in my boxers. Crash stepped into the room with a panicked look on his face. I could tell he was about to force a shift into werewolf mode, which meant a lot more growling in pain, and painful pops emanating from him. "What," I asked. "Could be nothing," Crash said. "But Zack hasn't made it home." Suppressing a painful wince, I rolled up into a sitting position, and began to check my ammunition. "Should we call Rodriguez?" There was a snarl on Crash's face. Then it began to pop as it stretched, and I looked away. He I could hear him suppressing a moan. "No, they'll just start a war and we'll have to get Zack on our own, anyway. When Kris and Sean get home, tell them to stay inside and away from the windows." With a wince of my own, I laid back down, holding my pistol close to me. I rested my sore hip and back as best as I could, knees up to the sky, head staring straight at the ceiling, breathing low and slow through my mouth. I heard the door slam, and knew Crash had disappeared into the woods. My phone rang. It was a strange number. I answered it, then sat upright as quick as I could. Limping to the door, muttering a prayer that Crash hadn't gone so far he couldn't hear me, I shouted into the woods "Hospital!" Less than a minute later, Crash was back in the house, breathing hard, his ears folded back, a snarl on his muzzle. "What?!" "Zack is in the hospital. He got jumped outside of work." |
| Werewolf healing is strange. Stranger than us regular types. Even stranger than lawn gnomes. Valyur's new girlfriend, Auburn is timid of humans. But it's understandable. She has a scar on her that she won't talk about. It looks recent, and probably from a human. So, I get why she insists on staring at our front door on occasion, or staring at the neighbors as if they're going to go on a lawn gnome smashing spree. The thousand yard stare is one of trauma and survival, not necessarily one of combat. I saw it in her, and understood it immediately. She'll talk if she wants to. Otherwise, we're here for her in our own capacity. A werewolf though rarely has a scar when they heal. And it's done so fast. I understand how a werewolf can eat so much in a single sitting. Crash's paycheck is spent in large part on food. The man is an eating machine. Literally, werewolves are eating machines. It's like magic, they can turn a paycheck into literal crap in a matter of hours. All of that healing must get it's energy from somewhere. A fast metabolism is the perfect place to start. All of that shifting must get it's energy from somewhere, too. That somewhere is going to be a huge portion of food. Meat. Carbs. And of course, hunting. Werewolves seemed to hunt when money is tight. I know they enjoy it, but they do it more when the paycheck is low. At least this is what Crash does. There are times when he eats with us, all he has is vegetables. What I've picked up on is this: he's hunting more then. Knowing Crash, the reason he just eats four or five potatoes and almost a pound of steamed carrots isn't because he's dieting, it's because he's caught and devoured wild game already. Or a wild mythical criminal that I probably don't want to know about. His healing ability and metabolism had me thinking though. Could a werewolf get something stuck inside of them? Would their quickly healing bodies have an object that was healed over? It sometimes happens with people. A woman gets a BB stuck in their backside from a jealous boy. As she grows older, the BB is still there, grown into the skin. Then the boy, now a man has a list of things he wants to make up for, and finds out she's a courtroom sketch artist and....okay, maybe that's "My Name Is Earl". What about those cases of people sitting on a couch so long, they've literally grown into the furniture? Okay, that might be a bad example, too. After all, Jerry Springer wasn't exactly the bastion of intelligent television programming. The smartest thing to come from that show was the Weird Al parody song. Though it was entertaining, I'll give you that. With a werewolf's high pain tolerance and quick healing ability, I can see a case where a werewolf could have a rock, or perhaps a stick or something lodged inside of them, and not even know about it. Would any werewolf have something like that? It brings me back to a memory of one of the first weeks I was here. Crash had that bite taken out of his shoulder, the tooth stuck inside of it. I was able to get the tooth out. Then he healed. His body was trying to reject it somehow, push it out. Perhaps that's how werewolf healing really does work. It sees the foreign object, and begins to push it out. What would it take to scar a werewolf anyway? I mean besides seeing me in fishnet stockings and a Marilyn Monroe wig? That'd be enough to scar anyone. I suppose that's not the kind of scars we're talking about though. But I digress. Maybe severe damage of a kind that would take a human body weeks or months to recover from with an entire team of doctors. Maybe it'd be something so bad that we couldn't see it on regular streaming platforms. Many of a werewolf scars are the ones that dig deep below the surface. It's scars that they hide with a crass joke and a smile. The type of scars that makes regular people wince, tear up, and pat you on the shoulder. On our recent vacation, we did see some of Crash's scars. It had festered in his mind as he attempted to forget and move on. Thankfully, we were able to get him to forgive and let go, rather than forget and move on. Cause, much like rocks, or that BB, things in our own psyche that we try to forget and move on from just lay beneath the surface and fester. Our mind and personality has grown over the damage, but never been allowed to push the object out. The only real solution, even for werewolves, is to dig it out, to push the infection out, and to let go. That's what I see when I look at most werewolves these days. I suppose it's why I can now identify with them. They are, just like me, a collection of scars, hiding from the world with a bad joke and a smile. Perhaps, just like anyone. I guess that's why some werewolves, like Crash, like Mitch, are more human at times, than many regular people I've known. |
| The trip back was as beautiful as the trip out. We took alternate routes, explored roadside diners in small towns. Occasionally, we stopped to snap photos of local hot spots and attractions. There was no lingering though on this leg of the trip. We just kept going forward, pushing ahead to get back home. Crash had changed. A lot of his jokes after the trip home became more personal, but less biting. There had been a weight lifted off his shoulders, which seemed to seep through his personality and into his smile. It was visible to both me and Elouise. The jokes were the fun kind. Those short jabs that flies over and makes you laugh despite being the butt of it. Being the only human there, I got more than most. Considering my ranting nature, I think I deserved it though in some way. Besides, I write the blog, so I literally get the last word. Ha, beat that, Crash! When we got home, it was a relief and a disappointment, the way all the best vacations are. We kind of all wanted to be away at least one more day, but was glad to be able to sleep in our own beds. It's amazing how, when you leave for vacation all you want to do is be gone, but when you're coming home all you want to do is sleep in your own bed, surrounded by your own things. Escaping from stress can be a stress all it's own, I suppose. The house did look beautiful on our corner as we pulled up that evening, I will admit that. Elouise hopped out first. She grabbed her bag, gave me a chaste hug. Then she walked over to Crash and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you both for the nice time," she said. Then she twisted Crash's ear. "And that's for trying to murder someone on vacation." Crash winced and hollered. "Only almost, only almost!" She twisted it a bit then let him go. "Only almost, I swear." Looking at me she said, "Take care of this fur ball." And with that, she headed home. I'm not sure if it was in relief or sadness, I wouldn't be surprised with either. Everything was about wrapped up. Everything save for one detail. Valyur. I had made a promise to our resident lawn gnome. He watch the house, and I come see him after. There was a favor that I owed to him. I didn't forget. Of course I wanted to go talk to him almost immediately, get the scoop on what had actually happened while we were away. But, I had to wait, cause of course, your neighbors will never believe you for some reason if you tell them your lawn gnome is alive and talks to you. So, it was about midnight when I finally got the chance. Valyur met it with the same dignity and understanding he always does. He glanced at me, then sneered, "So, the meatie finally graces me with his presence." "I wanted to come earlier, but the neighbors just see crazy guy sitting in his flower bed talking to statues. I don't want to be chased by guys with butterfly nets." He gave me a look as if to ask 'what are you talking about?'. I just shrugged. "Nevermind." "There's more important things going on then your weirdo meatie shenanigans. Something's brewing, meatie. We have strange vehicles roaming around. Dangerous looking meaties about. All marked up. Got other meaties nervous." There was no reference in my brain for what he was talking about. A dangerous meatie to a lawn gnome is a kid with a baseball bat. So, I made the tragic mistake of blowing off his warning. It could have been exhaustion from the trip. Or subconsciously I knew what threat was coming and was ready for it. For there to be an ending to something that I technically hadn't started. So, I just nodded to Valyur. "The police or Crash can handle them, I'm sure." "Also, I want a wife." That part caught me off guard. "So, I just go to the store and buy a female lawn gnome?" He shook his head. "No! I want to meet them first. Romance them, get to know them better. You don't just up and marry someone out the gate, do ya?" Great. So now he wanted me to take him into the store so he could meet the lawn gnome first. Like what...wander up and down the isle with a lawn gnome hidden under my jacket? Walk him down the isle and tell the statue 'pick out a good one'? Stand them next to each other, so they could talk and flirt in the middle of the isle of the store? "So...am I taking you to the store or..." He gave me the confused look again. I thought he was going to slap me. "No! I don't want no meatie chaperoning me, ya creepy weirdo!" This was getting very strange. "So, why are you..." "I already got a woman. I just need ya to agree to let her stay here. To let us build something." Oh. That made a lot more sense, and thankfully didn't require me to smuggle lawn gnomes into Wal-Mart. I stood and patted him on the head. "Don't take over the entire yard, and don't turn us into lawn gnomes. But sure, knock yourself out. You earned it." As I went inside, for the first time since Valyur had taken this self imposed job of guardian, I saw him smile. It was nice to see. I hope whoever that ceramic nutjob picks is able to keep him in line. He does need someone to talk to on those long nights. He don't think we notice, but we all see he's lonely. It's part of the reason I go out and talk to him. Despite being the crazy guy sitting in his flower garden talking to a statue. The vacation, as disastrous as the trip home for Crash was, was much needed. Vacations are their own stress it's true. But, it's a different kind of stress. The pressures of deadlines, people keeping up with you, having to perform rigorous standing or sitting while waiting. Sometimes a job can be all the bad parts of a Disney world vacation, but without the fun of Space Mountain. All in all, I was grateful to Crash for taking us, for showing us around. And though, he never said it directly, I know he's grateful to us for stopping him. Though, we've all agreed: next time we're just going to see the grand canyon. |
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