Mike The Werewolf: A Humorous Werewolf Thriller, page 8
“What?”
Whereas my words were completely unintelligible, my inner wolf’s seemed to make perfect sense for some reason.
Weird. I tried to speak again, but he interrupted before I could finish.
“I’ll stop you right there, dipshit. The problem as I see it, is you’re talking like a human bitch, something my mouth obviously isn’t built for. So, if you have something to say, either say it correctly or shut the fuck up so I can kill the shit outta you!”
Frustrated, as well as slightly terrified, I tried to replicate what he’d just said, but it came out as nothing but growling gibberish.
“Okay, I see this is pointless,” he remarked. “Time to gut your stupid ass.”
How the heck am I supposed to talk to him like this?
“Maybe try learning the language, idiot. Werewolf, motherfucker. Do you speak...? Wait a second. Do that again.”
I grumbled nonsense in response, which earned me another smack upside the head with the bear trap.
Ow! Stop that, I mentally cried. I don’t know what you’re asking me to do.
“Well, what do you know? You can’t speak for shit but somehow I can still hear you yammering inside my head.”
You can?
“I just said that, didn’t I?”
He swung the trap once more, but this time I caught it with my right hand – surprised to find I still had control of that side. Before he could try again, I yanked it from his grasp and threw it into the bushes.
“How the fuck are you able to do that? This is my body. I’m in control now.”
No idea, I just did. Then, feeling spiteful, I added, So, let’s see if I can do it again.
I drove a fist into the left side of my own face, staggering myself.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the brightest move. On the other hand, I’d definitely felt it, but the blow was muted, as if the nerve endings on that side were only sending a partial signal.
Good to know, but probably not something I should make a habit of.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”
You hit me first!
“If you think that hurt, just wait until I carve your whining ass the fuck out of me.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The next several minutes found my right-side wrestling with my left, which I’m sure looked quite the sight. A werewolf with multiple personality disorder. Who’d have ever guessed?
We fought back and forth, each of us trying to wrest control from the other. All the while, my inner wolf growled nonstop invectives at me while I ... thought mean thoughts back at him.
Yeah, it was probably a good thing no one else could hear me.
Who knows how long this strange dance of death would’ve gone on for had we not inadvertently stepped into yet another trap the Chadworths had helpfully hidden there.
The snare was obviously designed for a normal human, not a seven-and-a-half-foot tall wolf beast. It pulled me off my feet but that was it – leaving me lying on my backside with one leg dangling in the air.
However, it did serve to momentarily halt our infighting.
“I am so gonna gut whoever put that there,” my inner wolf growled.
You already did. The Chadworths set it.
“The What-worths?”
Those two nutjobs who gave you a lift.
“Oh. Then maybe I should go back and shred them extra hard.”
And what is that going to accomplish?
“I don’t know, but it might make me feel better about being woken the fuck up!”
Ask a stupid question...
All right. Let’s take a deep breath and calm down. Fighting isn’t accomplishing anything. Who knows how many traps they have lying around here?
What ensued was my right and left halves attempting to take a breath out of sync which, needless to say, was a seriously weird sensation. But at least our brawl seemed to be over for now.
Instead, we ended up fumbling with the rope around our ankle for the next two minutes before I finally thought, Time out! This isn’t working. The snare’s on your side, so ... I’m going to give you control. Okay?
In truth I neither thought that a wise idea nor did I have any clue how to do it. However, he’d managed it back inside, so I knew it was possible.
Possible and easier than I’d have guessed. In the end, all I had to do was relax and let go. He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to throttle me again, but then started working to free us without any input from me – a rather unpleasant thing to experience.
Years back, I’d read a story called Locked In, in which victims of the zombie virus effectively became prisoners within their own bodies. They were fully conscious, but unable to do anything as their shambling forms ravaged the countryside looking for victims.
It was a notion I found infinitely more terrifying than the zombies themselves.
If that was indeed what my wolf had meant by being locked in a brain cage, then perhaps he was due more sympathy than I’d originally judged.
Mind you, it’s not like I’d been on the hunt for human brains during that time. If anything, his main complaint so far seemed to be that I wasn’t killing nearly enough people to make him happy.
Either way, it was the space of seconds for him to slice the rope around our ankle. Freed, I did a little test as we scrambled back to our feet, wiggling my fingers just to make sure I still could.
Phew!
“What was that?” he asked.
Um, nothing. Just happy to be free again.
“Fucking pussy,” he grumbled before asking, “So, what now?”
You mean do we go back to fighting?
“Tempting as that is, no, dumbass. I mean, what’s the plan?”
Hold on. Are you actually asking me?
“What does it sound like? You obviously had something in mind when you dragged us out here. Unless, that is, you were planning on those metal teeth biting my leg off.”
No! That was just an accident.
“You’d better hope so because if you wake me up again, I swear...”
He trailed off, the threat obvious.
It had been a little over three hours since he’d disappeared into my subconscious to take a nap, which I guess explained why he’d woken up extra cranky. If he was still tired, then maybe he intended to go back to sleep. If so, that would make my – our – escape that much easier.
Rather than play games, I quickly filled him in on what had happened, as well as my plan to get my bearings and make it back to familiar territory.
My other half was silent for several long seconds after I finished, but then he said, “Fine. Give me control.”
Control? I was almost afraid to ask. What for?
“So I can get us the fuck out of here. What else? You’ve already shown you can’t be trusted to watch where you’re going.”
Oh, come on. It was one time.
“Here’s what I’m proposing,” he said, ignoring me. “I’ll get us past whatever surprises those assholes left lying around, then you leave me alone so I can go back to sleep. Deal?”
I mean, I guess that would...
“Let me just point out, the alternative is me bashing your side of our skull against a rock. Your call.”
All things considered, it wasn’t the worst deal I’d ever been offered.
♦ ♦ ♦
I was both impressed as well as envious at how adept my inner wolf seemed to be when in control of our werewolf form.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t consider myself a slouch. I’d never felt uncomfortable adapting to either the strength or speed of this body. But the way he moved when in charge, well, it was something else. It was like his mind and senses were completely in tune as he neatly side-stepped boobytrap after boobytrap – stopping only to pee on one as I guess a sort of farewell to the Chadworths.
Eh, whatever worked.
It was only when he started digging that I became a little concerned.
What are you doing? There’s nothing here.
“Untrue, pupcake. There’s a tasty pile of bones beneath us. Figured I could use a snack.”
What?! No!
“Why not?”
Because those are people, that’s why.
“So?”
So, we don’t do things like that! It’s ... wrong.
“No. Starving is wrong, especially when there’s tasty morsels just within reach.”
Not wanting to start another fight, but also not wanting to wolf down human remains, I tried to think quickly. I ... I’ll get you something else to eat. I promise.
“When?”
I don’t know. Soon as I can.
“But I’m hungry now.”
You just ate a full pig!
He scoffed. “That little thing?”
It was all I could do to keep from screaming. Just don’t, okay? I swear, I’ll ... make it worth your while.
He let out a grumble, but at least he’d stopped digging. “You’d better!”
I had no idea how I was going to make good on that promise, but I’d cross that bridge once we were far away from here, as well as any people, living or otherwise.
♦ ♦ ♦
Finally, my inner demon declared us to be in the clear. Aside from the bag still hanging from my arm, the Chadworths were now officially in our rearview mirror, which was no small relief.
Ten minutes later I was back in control. Won’t lie, I was kinda envious how quickly the savage beast inside my noggin was able to conk out.
Back in the driver’s seat once again, I craned my head toward the sky – the only real sense of direction I had to go by. I wasn’t a survivalist, but knew enough to spot the North Star.
Once I had an idea which direction was which, I turned west – relying on my senses to guide me, a task made much easier now that I no longer had to worry about boobytraps.
Why west? Call it a hunch. I didn’t have much to go on, but my other half had been trying to get back home when the Chadworths picked him up. Assuming he hadn’t gotten turned around, that meant he’d probably been heading west away from the city. So long as his would-be killers hadn’t ended up on an extended road trip with him passed out in the backseat, it seemed a safe assumption that we were still somewhere east of Harris County.
And if I was wrong, well, there was enough cash in their bugout bag to afford a plane ticket.
I pushed that thought away as I started running, trying not to imagine an angry werewolf waking up in a crowded passenger jet at thirty-thousand feet. Instead, I passed the time thinking up names for my inner werewolf.
Sure, there were far more pressing matters to dwell upon, but I figured I’d earned a small break from things dark and disturbing.
♦ ♦ ♦
Spot, Rover, and Rex were the obvious low-hanging fruit, but those all felt cliché.
Wolfie? Nah, too cutesy.
I’d always told myself that if I got another dog, I’d name it Mater to go along with Spud, but I doubted that would go over well.
Our relationship was already pretty adversarial. There was nothing to be gained by kicking that particular hornet nest.
Something out of a horror movie was probably more fitting anyway. Talbot or maybe Lucien.
Both were solid choices, but they sounded a bit too hoity-toity for my tastes. I didn’t want to insult the creature taking up residence inside my noggin, but saw no point in feeding his ego either.
Not to mention, there weren’t many Luciens to be found in a place like Harris County.
No. I needed something simple, something honest and every day. Something like...
An idea hit me just as my nose picked up the lingering scent of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes. It was coming from the south – a road, a decent sized one from the smell of things.
There was more too, a kaleidoscope of scents giving me a sense of the bigger picture. Beyond the road were railroad tracks, and past that moving water. A river.
I immediately turned that way, curious to see what I’d find.
Though the woods were both dark and dense, I felt no fear. My nose had already cataloged the wildlife that called this stretch of forest home and found nothing worth worrying about.
It was probably arrogant of me to say that, but I didn’t see the local bobcats trying their luck against a full-grown werewolf.
There!
I spied a break in the trees up ahead, and past it asphalt.
There was a lane going in either direction, not a major highway but not a tiny country road either. I followed it as it curved westward, staying out of sight until I finally spotted a marker.
Yes!
I was on Route 120, Renovo Road. That meant the river I’d sensed was the Susquehanna. I knew exactly where I was. If memory served me right, this stretch was right outside of Cooks Run.
If so, I was two counties from home – a daunting walk for a person, but nothing but a good workout for a werewolf. Heck, I could probably run back to Elk County faster than an Uber could get out there to pick me up.
From there, it was a reasonably straight shot back home.
That was one mystery solved.
Problem was, I had no idea what was waiting for me there. I still had no sense of how long I’d been gone, meaning there was no way of knowing how much mayhem either Hobart or Myra had caused in the meantime.
No.
Much as I wanted to get back home, grab another shower, then fall asleep in my own bed, I needed to do some recon first.
And that meant taking a slight detour.
WHO PREYS UPON THE PREDATORS?
Despite its name, Harris County was merely a township not a whole county. As the story goes, its founder, a trapper by the name of Nathanial Harris, had big plans for it, but his vision never quite panned out as he spent his final years going slowly mad from a combination of syphilis and wood alcohol.
Anyway, by the time folks realized that Harris County wasn’t destined to become a Mecca of backwoods commerce, the name had stuck. Referendums to change it popped up from time to time in the local elections, but they never passed. People were comfortable with what they knew, and if any outsiders scoffed at it, well, that was their problem to deal with.
Bottom line was we were too far from the beaten path to be useful for travelers, other than maybe as a quick pit stop at Larry Parker’s Gas & Go station.
On the other hand, Harris County’s remoteness and proximity to the Allegheny forest ended up making it the perfect home for a pack of werewolves. Or perhaps it was perfect for those attempting to hide a pack of werewolves from the rest of the world, as the question of the ritual’s origins was still unanswered, at least as far as I was aware.
Back when Hobart first confronted me about being a Dominant, he’d mentioned a mysterious group he’d called the Top Coven.
My first inclination, after having time to collect my thoughts, was he must’ve been talking about witches.
However, as time wore on and I became slightly less ignorant of matters, I learned that was wrong. The group he’d erroneously labeled as the Top Coven had in fact been called the First Coven, and they weren’t witches. They were vampires, the top dogs amongst the undead as a matter of fact.
That certainly explained Hobart’s mad-on with vamps and their so-called Progenitor, a vendetta he’d pursued all the way to Brooklyn – ultimately leading to my current predicament.
As for why he was convinced that vampires were responsible for drugging us, I still had few answers.
All I knew was the road that led to our standoff in New York started with the harassment of a man named Jacob Vesser.
Jacob was a Harris County lifer, known to most in the area. He had a home just outside the city limits on a large, wooded lot, where he’d lived by himself ever since his wife passed and his step kids moved out. He was a good fella, even if he mostly kept to himself.
Jacob had never been part of the ritual, but neither had lots of other folks in town. He was also no vampire, having seen him out and about many times during the day.
In short, there didn’t seem to be any logical reason to target him, but Hobart and logic had never been kissing cousins.
It had started with Hobart’s inner circle haunting the woods around Jacob’s house, mostly trying to spook the poor guy into giving up some information he supposedly had. It was definitely creepy, don’t get me wrong, but it could have been way worse.
At first, I tried to avoid getting involved. So long as the pack kept their distance, I kept mine. They were all firmly under Hobart’s thumb by then. Outnumbered as I was, I had no interest in tangling with them if it could be avoided. Needless to say, his threat regarding my balls still hung heavy in my thoughts.
Sadly, it was a stalemate not destined to last.
One night, company came calling at Jacob’s place, except they weren’t the normal type a fella might keep.
When Hobart started his harassment for the evening, they made it a point to confront him.
Things went downhill quickly from there.
♦ ♦ ♦
Then...
What in Spud’s name?
I was up in a tree way back in the woods, maybe thirty feet off the ground – close enough to make out Jacob’s backyard but not enough to be seen.
Or smelled, thanks to the scent control agent I’d hosed myself down with earlier. Amazing the stuff you could buy online.
Anyway, my goal was to keep an eye on things, nothing more. For the past week, Hobart and his crew had been out here harassing the poor fella – calling to him from the woods, demanding information about the so-called vampire Progenitor, but never approaching.
I wasn’t sure what connection, if any, a guy like Jacob Vesser might have to some bloodsucking messiah, but Hobart seemed convinced of it. Either way, it was obvious he was trying to unnerve Jacob into giving him some bit of information he wanted.
I’d hoped this night would end no different than the previous ones, with them giving up after a few hours. I didn’t like what they were doing, but so long as they kept their distance, I saw no reason to get involved.
Tonight wasn’t like the rest, though. Jacob had visitors. I didn’t know who they were or what their relationship to him was, but they seemingly had no interest in letting this harassment continue unchecked.
